Haven
by Erik'sBelleNoire
Summary: Pt.1 of 2-Alt. storyline. Kay based. Erik/OC. Erik is a wealthy English lord. When he makes an unusual arrangement with an American in trouble, what will happen to a man who was sure he would always be alone? Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1 The Arrangement

A/N: Hello again! For this story, I've taken a bit more liberty with the timeline, so don't expect it to follow either ALW's or Kay's version. I know this may be very seem similar to Under the Veil of Honorable Marriage at first glance, but it's not. All other characters in this story are original, so please don't snag them, k? This first, short chapter has been posted without the help of a beta, so if you find a mistake, please tell me in private, not in a review, thank you. I'll post more chapters in the next few days. I hope everyone enjoys it. :)

* * *

Haven

By Erik's Belle Noire

Disclaimer: I do not own any version of Phantom of the Opera...Leroux's, ALW's or Kay's. I've made no profit from this or any of my stories and nothing is meant to offend anyone.

* * *

"…_and the more intriguing question remains," she said rather stoutly, "how does a French aristocrat come to leave France behind and become an English lord, no questions asked?"_

"_Money, dear lady." he answered placidly, taking the last sip of his brandy, "money can buy anything."_

"_Even true love?"_

_He paused, and set down his glass. Then with a chilling resonance that shocked even her now desensitized façade, Erik replied, "There is no such thing."_

* * *

Chapter One 

"You truly should take a wife." Lord Thomas Sutton stared down his nose at his business partner, Lord Frederick Renault, as his lit his pipe. "You are a man coming of two score, you have considerable wealth, you need heirs."

Erik Renault concentrated on the ledgers, writing numbers with his fountain pen, never looking up. "Yes, I know I should. Your wife has said as much to me over the past months. Pesky that she is, I know she is correct." He smiled dimly.

Thomas Sutton smiled back at him, knowing he was being far too polite. Yes, his wife Elizabeth could be quite persistent. "Nonetheless. I am sure there are plenty of fine young ladies here in the area, perhaps if you went to socials or to the theatre, anywhere but that stuffy office of yours, you could look for…."

"Who is to say I have not already?"

The more portly, auburn haired man, a good five years Erik's senior, stopped his rant cold when Erik looked up at him.

"What, looked?" he asked.

"No, found."

His eyes darted in confusion. "Who, where?"

Erik looked down at his ledger once more, "The daughter of Simon Hawkins." His voice was even toned, detached.

Thomas studied him closely as he tried to retrieve the name. He was usually good at names, but blame it on the hot August weather, he just couldn't bring recall the man. "Hawkins, Hawkins…I do not seem to recall a Lord Hawkins…"

"He is not a Lord, and yes, you met him. The overly tall, thin, gray haired American. He was dressed rather inappropriately disheveled." Erik spoke as he continued to write.

Thomas gasped, "Wait. Oh, the American…yes, the one that seemed so anxious to find you?"

"The same."

"Ah yes, now I recall the fellow." Thomas took a moment to inhale his pipe. "A strange one he was, at that. Yet, I was to understand that Mr. Hawkins traveled here alone this past month."

More writing from Erik, then, "He did."

"Then when did you meet the daughter?"

A pause, the pen slowing down, yet only slightly.

"I have not met her."

"What?"

Finally, Thomas' persistence caused Erik to cease the last few entries of his ledger. He sat his pen down, folded his arms across his chest and studied Lord Sutton closely, "I said I have not met her. I was told by him that she was a young widow of twenty-eight, a school teacher in Delaware."

Thomas threw his hands in the air, "Have you lost your good senses? Do you mean to tell me that you intend to marry a woman from America, sight unseen?"

"Yes."

"And one not even a maid?"

Exasperated, he replied, "Yes, Thomas."

"Why?"

Erik sighed and leaned forward, "My friend, if I am to marry, then I wish to marry with much haste, not bothering with the pitiful trifling of love and courtship that most younger, more innocent maids can bring. Simon Hawkins… a foolish man; he arrived in London with lofty dreams of wealth and instead, gambled away his family's savings. He was too ashamed to go home and face them, so he came to me for money, a loan. He had nothing to offer, of course. After speaking for a time, I learned of his wife, a son and only daughter named Isabella. Then the idea came to me. He said she was a mature, well educated, beautiful…."

"All fathers speak of their children being beautiful…"

That caused a momentary stutter, "Yes, very true."

"Have you even seen a photograph?"

"No, I have not."

He shook his head and said, "Continue."

"He agreed to give his daughter to me in marriage and for her dowry, I would pay off his debt, plus a little extra for his trouble, of course."

"When is this to take place?"

"Within the next month. He left a week ago to return and prepare his daughter for her travel here. She should arrive within the next couple of weeks. Louis went with him with the money to ensure she boards the boat and I am having Dùghall meet them when they arrive in Southampton."

"You are not going to meet her yourself?"

"No, I am rather busy with this new merger we are undertaking. I simply wish to get her here, marry her as quickly as possible and be on with my business."

"I am not sure how you expect to have heirs at that rate." Thomas snorted as he stood up, then leaned over to tap his pipe in the ashtray.

But Erik was steadfast in his resolve. "I do not need love to produce heirs."

Thomas slid his pipe in his pocket, walked to the door and said softly, "But it makes the production much more enjoyable." Then he left, sure Erik hadn't heard.

But he had.


	2. Chapter 2 The Beginning

Haven

Chapter Two:

From the journal of Isabella Renault:

Paris, France

1946

_The beginning._

_I was christened Isabella Rose Hawkins, only daughter of Simon and Helen Hawkins. I was born June 18__th__, 1862, exactly nine months to the day after my father left to fight in the Civil War…at least that is what I was told. I was born in Wilmington, Delaware, United States of America, but after the war ended, my parents, older brother, Jackson (who was seven years older than me and never let me forget it) and I moved to a small town called Amsville, just outside of Wilmington, where I was raised to adulthood. _

_I was a pure romantic at heart. I believed in love at first sight. I could not seem to help this, for books were my only friend and many days I would sit by the lamplight reading tales of love, of heroes and villains. It was with this foolish notion that I came to believe that one must never give themselves to anyone without true, unconditional love. The kind of love that endured all, that truly lived to the vow 'for better, for worse'. The kind of love that is so intense, you would swear you could not breathe without the other. That was why, by the age of 18, I had chosen to marry my childhood sweetheart and become Isabella Brolen. I was sure I'd found love, long lasting love._

_But it did not last. My dear Lawrence died a mere two years later, leaving me alone, a young, grieving widow. But that story is for another time._

_The remaining eight years since, I spent educating myself to become a teacher and helped to establish the first, full-time school house in Amsville. I watched with pride as Jackson married, had children and took a very successful job with the railroad out West. Dedicating myself to remaining home to care for my parents, I was happy, satisfied and fulfilled. And for all this, I was approaching thirty and sure I would never marry again._

_Yet on a summer's day in 1889, my world took yet another dramatic turn._

_Father had arrived home from London that day. Being away so long, I had practically run down the stairs to throw myself into his arms in joyous welcome. Yet, what I found was not the man I had seen leaving several weeks earlier. Long in the face, pale and gaunt, without a word to Mother, he took me upstairs and informed me that I was to marry again. Seems he had met an English lord who desired a wife and my Father desired the money that he had offered to pay. _

_I had tried to refuse, I had tried to beg, but he had none of it. _

_That was it. No more explanation. No courtship, no prior meeting, I was simply to be sent to him and that was that. I had been left confused, upset and angry._

_Later that evening, I found myself perched at the top of the staircase, hidden from view, as my father explained to Mother that I was to be sent in two days on the boat for Southampton, where I would be taken to my new home and married rather unceremoniously. _

"_What about her teaching?" Mother asked him through shedding tears and sniffles._

"_Now that she will become a wife again, teaching should no longer be of priority to her." He said in a voice that was so unfamiliar to me, I felt I would blanch at the sound of it. _

_Yes, I had moved back to live with my parents in their meager home, but I loved teaching. I had sixteen students in my charge, ranging in education from first grade to tenth grade. Now where would these children be? I kept asking myself. Many, especially the girls and older boys would simply forget school and move on to other vocations if no teacher was found quickly. And why must I do this so soon? I needed time to find someone to take over and two days was not nearly enough. _

"_Simon." Mother looked him in the eye. "What have you done?"_

_Father turned away, unable to look her any longer. A rather stern man, he could stand up to anyone but my mother._

"_Answer me. What happened that you have had to pawn off our only daughter?"_

_He reluctantly told her then. Told her of the gambling debt. Told how he'd been taken in by what he thought was a simple game of blackjack. Blackjack was my Father's game, he never lost. He was sure he'd come home with at least double what he'd taken. They cheated, he told her. But he couldn't prove it. Lost everything, his unusually meek voice squeaked. Lost all they had. Then he went to this English lord. Lord Renault his name was, Frederick Charles Renault, Lord of Haven Manor. Asked for money, no…begged for it. Offered all he had left…pocket watch…his father's gold cufflinks, even partnership in the lumber mill….not enough, the man had told him, until…._

"_He's a wealthy man, darling. I mentioned you, Jackson and Isabella. He appeared to be very interested in Belle, asked what she looked like, how old she was, if she was educated…I told him everything. Then it happened. He offered to take her in marriage, and in exchange, he would pay her dowry, almost three times what I lost in the blackjack game….triple, my darling….we could pay off the mill's debts and own it outright, like we always planned."_

"_Not at Belle's expense…" My mother could hear no more. She waved her hands at him as she sunk into her chair, weeping into a handkerchief. _

_My father stared dumbly at her, unable to say anything that would make it better. _

_Finally, she looked up at him and said simply, "She will not go. Send word to this English lord that she….died….or she was married before you returned, anything. Or perhaps, send no word and we'll simply move away."_

"_No, a man has returned with me. He's Lord Renault's insurance that Isabella returns with him to England. The money is left with me when she boards the boat."_

"_Then we shall not take the money."_

"_I cannot lose the lumber mill, Helen. You know what would happen if we did, we would have nothing. I'm disabled from the war, you know that, I can't do manual labor anymore. You…you could barely make enough doing seamstress work to make ends meet, nor would Belle with her teaching position. Jackson has gone West with his family, he can't help us now. No. It is done. She will marry this man and live with him in England."_

"_I don't care about the mill, I only care about Belle and her happiness!"_

"_You certainly care about the things I buy with the money the mill makes, don't you? The fine clothes, the furniture, the perfumes….!"_

"_Stop it!" Mother cried again. "Do not turn this on me! You don't know what you're subjecting her to! A loveless marriage to a stranger an ocean's apart from us! She will be alone, I will be alone!"_

"_You will have me, darling."_

_The look on my mother's face indicated without a doubt that was not a consolation._

"_You swore to her, after all she'd gone through, losing Lawrence, that she wouldn't have to marry, unless she truly wanted to, if she fell in love again…."_

_Father sunk to his knees, taking her hands in his, "She will grow to love this man, in time. He is successful, business savvy, relatively attractive…but you should also know…"_

"_No more!" Mother cried as she leapt up, pushed past him and stormed away._

"…_he wears a mask."_

_The door to their bedroom slammed shut. Mother never heard that last, strange part._

_But I did. _

_A mask._

_What kind of man wears a mask? My God, what had Father gotten me into?_

_Not only was I being sold to save my father from his own foolishness, but being sold to a faceless man in another country._

_And that is when I ran to my room and shut the door.

* * *

_

"Come in." Isabella said softly as she rose from the bed in the small room of the over-crowded boat. At least it was private, if that was a consolation. Most people on the ship, stowaways, slept where they could find a place…a chair, some packing crates, the floor.

The door opened and Louis, Erik's personal assistant (or insurance, as her father had called him) walked in, carrying a large garment bag with him. "Good morning, Miss, the boat will be arriving in Southampton shortly." He said to her.

Belle found this man strange from the first moment she laid eyes on him. Which, sadly enough, was the last day she would spend with her mother before leaving to board the boat for England. That evening, when all was quiet, she'd sat alone with her mother, contemplating running away, just leaving it all behind. Forget her father, forget the mill, forget it all but her own happiness. Find Jackson, live with him, her mother had said, she'd tell everyone she ran away or even died. But in the end, Isabella just couldn't do it. She couldn't abandon her mother, never to have contact again, even with her encouragement. For this dear woman, who had nursed her through whooping cough when she was four, taught her how to sew, to laugh, to be a proper young woman….and was there to give her love and support as a new widow. For her, she would give the world. After much introspection, she felt marrying a stranger to save her family's mill seemed almost trivial at that point.

So, as she looked upon her mother's aging, soft, tear-stained face for the last time as the boat pulled away from shore, she knew some things were just worth sacrificing oneself for.

Louis, she soon found, was rather soft spoken. Yet, as she observed by the way the other passengers regarded him, he seemed to carry himself with much authority. He didn't hold much conversation. He was always straight and to the point, and although Isabella prompted, would never reveal much about her impending journey or the man she was to marry, other than he was very successful and had a vast estate less than five miles outside of London.

And now, after a long week of waiting and sheer boredom, she looked at the garment bag in Louis' arms. Strange that she hadn't recalled it when they first boarded. "What is that?" she asked him as he sat it down on her small bed.

"For you to wear when you are taken to the estate. Dress quickly, the boat will dock within the hour and we have a long carriage ride home." He replied shortly.

_Home_. It wasn't _her_ home. She didn't even want to think about that, not at all.

"I have my own clothing." She informed him with a small snort of contempt. Of course he knew that, he'd carried her luggage to the ship and had seen her wearing her clean, although rather plain gowns on the ship all week.

"I am aware, but this is appropriate for the new Lady of Haven Manor."

"Wait…I…"

The door clicked shut without another word. My, but that man could come and go quickly.

Another snort. She knew she'd just been insulted, but what could she do? Her clothing was just fine, but just to amuse the charming Mister…or Monsieur Louis, as he liked to be called by those on the ship, she would open the bag and see what monstrosity of English gaudiness she was being asked to wear.

Yet, what she pulled out was the most beautiful gown she'd ever laid eyes on. She felt the material as it poured over her hand. Satin, she was positive, but very light and appropriate for the warm weather. And in pale blue, a lovely summer color indeed. Lacking was the over adornment of lace, ribbons and beadwork that she was sure most English ladies required of their gowns, but perhaps on retrospection, that was just a stereotype, after all. As she turned the gown around, she could see the back did indeed have a very large bow made of white ribbon with streams of embroidered red roses and thinner ribbons down the back. Not overdone, but understated and classic.

Despite herself, she was awed. Definitely, no one aboard the ship had a dress this lovely, or if they did, they certainly didn't wear it.

* * *

It was another forty-five minutes (and five exhausting tries to get her hair to stay pinned up) before she heard the sounds of rustling and the excited voices of people declaring they were finally in England. No sooner than she opened the door, trying to figure a way to navigate such a full bodied dress out the narrow door, then Louis appeared once more to gather her bags. 

Louis, not one to be over flattering, was rather taken aback by how lovely the gown looked on the young woman he'd been escorting. He noted pleasantly, that she had taken time to fix her hair up as well. The pale blue gown accentuated her ivory skin, light colored hair and hazel eyes, just as he had hoped it would when he brought it with him from Madame Ducet's dress shop in London. He was sure it would impress his employer, that is, if a man like Erik Renault _could_ be impressed.

"By all means, allow me." He said as he politely gathered the edge of her gown and helped her inch into the narrow hallway. He then proceeded inside and picked up her bags.

"Thank you kindly."

"I do say you look lovely in your new gown, Miss."

She smiled at the compliment, "Thank you, it's beautiful, did Lord Renault choose it?"

He soon joined her in the hallway, "No, I did."

Her eyes widened. Indeed, a man of few words, but exquisite taste. He was more intriguing than she'd given him credit for.

Louis held out his arm to her, "Shall we abandon this horrible boat for dry land?"

With a laugh, her first laugh since being on board, she took his arm and said with a very relieved, "Yes."

* * *

By the time they finally made it off the ship, after fighting through the more eager and anxious people who were desperate to get to shore, Belle was exhausted and ready to reach the carriage, if for nothing more than to simply sit down and rest. 

"You said it was long, but just _how_ long is the ride to the estate, Louis?" she asked as she picked up the last of her bags.

"Oh, I would say a good two hours yet, Miss. But the carriage is comfortable and if you wish, you could take a quiet rest; I will be riding up front so you can have all the privacy you need. I could remove a couple of books for you, if you so desire, I noticed you taking in a volume of Byron poetry..." He answered.

My goodness, it was longest sentence he'd said yet. She could hardly believe it. Maybe it was the English weather, or just the relief of being home.

"Yes, that sounds like a good idea, I am rather…" she started, but couldn't continue.

Because that was when she spotted him.

_Lord Renault…_

Her bags fell to the ground as he walked toward her from a rather large, covered carriage. Her eyes raked over him from top to bottom. Somewhat close to how her father had described him…dark hair, strong build, and nicely dressed. Yet, there were a couple of noted exceptions. One, he was smiling. Her father never mentioned that Lord Renault had smiled, not one time during their conversations. It was lovely to see. Also, he appeared younger than first estimated, at least closer to her age. Pleasant surprise. Perhaps, just perhaps, this could work out.

But the most noteworthy exception…

This man did _not_ wear a mask.

Shocked, she began to wonder if perhaps her father had referred to the mask that Lord Renault wore more metaphorically, than literally. Then again, she'd never known her father to be metaphorical. The notion in itself was quite disturbing.

"Welcome to England, Miss Hawkins." The young man said to her as he offered his hand.

That caused a pause. _Hawkins_? Did Lord Renault not know she'd been married, that her last name was actually Brolen? Oh lord, what _had_ her father told this man? Surely that she was not a virgin! She chose to let it go, for now.

She took his hand, "Nice to meet you, Lord Renault."

The sound of laughter rose from both Louis behind her and the young man in front of her. She felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment. What had she said wrong? Oh, how she hated to be embarrassed like that! She could almost burst into tears.

The young man seemed to sense this and immediately ceased his laughter and let go of her hand. "Forgive our amusement, how rude of us. I am _not_ Lord Renault. I forgot that you had not met him previously."

"I have not, but I do say, the descriptions of you both are rather similar." Isabella managed to utter as her cheeks began to lose their bright flush.

"In some ways, yes, some ways no." he told her as he took her hand once more, kissing it respectfully, "I am Dùghall, Dùghall Godard, Miss. I am Lord Renault's driver and I also run the stables at the estate."

Pure relief finally set in. At least it was not totally her mistake. At the same time, a tinge of disappointment rose as well. Shame that this attractive man was not the man she was to marry. Of course the question remained, where was the man she _was_ to marry? Where was Lord Renault, still in the carriage perhaps? She tried in vain to see inside, but dark curtains covered the openings.

Sensing her inquisitiveness, Dùghall responded, "Lord Renault was called out on business, he is not here to meet you, regretfully. I am to take you to the estate and he will meet you there later when his business is finished.

"Oh, I see." She sighed softly as she watched Louis put her luggage on top of the covered carriage. At least now she knew her father had indeed not learned to be metaphorical, after all.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for the couple of reviews so far, I appreciate it. The story will take time to unfold, so please be patient. Hell, at this point, I'M not even sure where it's going. So just sit back and enjoy! 


	3. Chapter 3 Upon First Glance

Haven

Chapter Three:

"_I'll write you the moment I arrive." Isabella promised her mother as she held her tight in her arms. "And everyday afterwards."_

_Her mother's reply was so tattered with tears it couldn't be understood, but Isabella knew it from her heart._

"_I love you too." _

_She turned away, not able to take another second of her mother's heartbreak. If she was going to get on this boat, it best be now._

"_I don't blame you for being upset, sweetheart, but it's for the best." Simon Hawkins took Isabella by the shoulders, as he could still hear his wife sobbing softly behind him. "He will take great care of you. You'll want for nothing, I promise."_

"_I wanted for nothing here." Her voice squeaked out, fighting tears and a resentful anger that was building inside._

"_You'll see, Belle. Soon, I'll be receiving nothing but wonderful correspondences about how much you love England. It just takes time. You're doing a wonderful thing for me…"_

_For him?_

_The rest of his words went right past her as Isabella blanched, unable to look her father in the eyes a second longer. If she did, she was sure she might do something rash, like strike him._

"_Just so you know, Father." She began, shrugging off his hands, her voice turning firmer and ice cold. "What I do now is for Mother, not you. I do this so she doesn't have to give up the simple things she's enjoyed. She deserves every penny of this money simply because of what she's had to endure with your sticky fingers and overzealous greed but instead, it has to go to cover your tracks, yet again."_

"_I didn't raise you to speak to me this way." Simon gasped. How did she know about the other times? Helen must have told her._

_A slow smile crept over her face as she replied, "Yes, you did raise me to speak to you this way. Goodbye, Father." _

_Then she turned to the tall, pale complexioned man who was holding her luggage on the dock and said softly, "Let's go."_

_She never looked back._

"Miss…Miss?" Louis' voice slowly crept into Isabella's sleepy haze, causing her eyes to slowly open. The fog lifted and she was once again aware of being in a moving carriage.

_Oh no…_

"Miss Hawkins?" Dùghall's much stronger voice almost made her jump.

"Yes, Mister Godard?"

"Oh, Miss please, call me Dùghall. Sorry to disturb you from your rest, but we are almost at Haven Manor."

She sat up straight as an arrow. My God, how long had she slept, anyway? She asked herself, observing the open book in her lap, still on page four where she'd left it less than a mile after leaving the shore. The small candle Louis had set up for her to read by, burned down to nothing but a pool of soft wax.

"If you look out your window, you will see it coming shortly on the horizon." Louis prompted.

That she could do.

Pulling back the dark curtain and blinking against the bright sunlight, careful not to get her cumbersome gown too bunched up in the process, she looked out with curious fascination.

_Green_.

Everything was green, lush and bright, patches still wet from where the sun had not directly dried the morning dew. She was sure she'd never seen so much green concentrated in one place in her life. She was also sure her mouth was gaping at the sight of it. What wasn't green was speckled with bright reds and yellows of the wild flowers that grew, running along the dirt road and disappearing into the skyline.

The same skyline that held the faintest glimpse of a house. No, it was not a house, not the type of simple, three room structures that she'd seen growing up. This was a tall, gray, almost castle-like mansion, which looked to be hundreds of years old. Even the largest plantation style homes she'd visited in Massachusetts didn't equal this. No, they definitely did not have these in America.

"Is that it?" she asked up to Dùghall as she hung almost half her body out to get a better view as they approached. She ducked to avoid the wispy branches that hung lower to the road, but squealed as one caught her cheek.

He smiled down at her, amused, "Oh, no, Miss," he answered, "that is Waverly, home of Lord and Lady Sutton."

"And who are they?"

"Lord Sutton is Lord Erik's business partner. Both of them are the pillar of English society around here. You will be meeting them soon enough, I would assume."

"I see. Then where is…" she started to ask as the carriage passed the ivy covered gate of Waverly. Before she could continue, she turned her head and Louis pointed.

"There is Haven."

A breath left her throat, for as they came over the small hill, there it stood, like a tall dark statue reaching up to the sky. Not as castle-like as Waverly, but it was definitely much larger and a bit more modern-looking in its design. The house was made of stone that was so smooth she wondered if it was marble and half of it was covered with the same type of ivy she saw on the Waverly gate. A cobblestone road ran from the gate in a circle all the way around the front of the home and in the center of it was a large sculpted angel with water flowing heavily from a pitcher in her delicate hands.

The carriage stopped just short of the tall, wrought iron gate and Dùghall climbed out to open it, allowing Isabella to get an even better view of the entire grounds. She expected the land to be just as flat as what she'd already traversed, but on closer inspection, she could see that there were gently sloping hills that led to a rather large lake, or even could be a small river that ran along the back of the estate.

For the first time since her arrival in England, she felt that perhaps she _could_ call this home.

She half expected to see a passel of female servants suddenly run out of the house, dressed in dark clothing and starched white aprons, clamoring to get a good look at the new woman that would be living there. But, as the carriage pulled up and stopped, it was strangely silent, other than the sound of Louis and Dùghall talking to themselves as they exited the carriage.

Dùghall opened the door first. "Welcome to Haven." Holding out his hand, he helped her out and kept hold of her arm so she could regain herself on tired, unsteady legs.

"I suppose it's from the long ride." She laughed softly.

"Yes, Miss, and from the long journey overseas, you will be fine once you rest." He assured her as Louis gathered her bags.

"Wait here, I shall show Miss Hawkins into the house, then take me to Lord Erik's office, he wishes to be informed of her arrival." Louis told Dùghall, taking Isabella's arm and walking her to the door, helping keep hold of her long gown. Then he turned to her as he opened the door. "You are expected, so you will be met inside and shown around shortly. I apologize for not showing you in personally, but I am to report to Lord Erik's office and I am already late."

She walked inside and saw the foyer, which was much larger than any she'd ever seen before. Everything was in a very natural colored, highly polished wood, including the long staircase, which wound along the wall, upward to the highest point, which she assumed was a third floor, but it appeared less sunlit than the others and far less decorated. And hanging down from it was a very large brass chandelier, lit brightly with at least two dozen candles. Briefly, she wondered if Lord Erik had a servant just to light them on a daily basis.

"I will take my leave of you now." Louis took her hand and kissed it respectfully, the first time he'd ever done something so formal since they'd met. He sat her bags down on the foyer floor as Isabella turned to look at a display of very delicate vases that hung along the wall to the left of what appeared to be a large dining room.

"Oh, these are lovely." She said softly, then pointed, "Is this the dining room?"

Silence.

"Louis?"

She turned and found herself alone.

"Louis?" she called out again, a bit louder.

The sound of horse hooves on the cobblestone drive.

She ran for the door and threw it open just in time to see the carriage heading for the gate, growing smaller and smaller.

She gave a snort as she closed the door. Well, someone would be down soon. But until then, she was alone. Finally, truly alone.

And despite her will do keep herself calm, reality set in and her hands began to shake.

* * *

As the sun began to grow lower in the sky toward the late afternoon, Jarrod, Erik's personal butler, walked out of the house upon hearing the carriage arrive. He was exhausted after spending the day helping Lillian, the young servant selected to be Isabella's personal maid, set up her new bedroom at the end of the second floor. Yet, he was curious to meet the new Lady of Haven Manor. Although when she didn't exit the carriage with Lord Erik, he became concerned.

"Good afternoon, my Lord." He said to him as he held the door for him to walk inside.

"Good afternoon, Jarrod." Erik, weary in mind and body from a day long trifling over his new business merger, stopped in the foyer and handed over his valise. All he truly wanted to do was have a brandy and retire, but other matters pressed. "Has Miss Hawkins settled in? If she has, bring her to my library so I may speak with her."

Jarrod turned pale. "Um…my Lord, I thought Miss Hawkins was with you."

Erik turned sharply, noting the pallor of his butler's aged face, "Why on earth would you think that? I never said I was meeting her anywhere but here."

"Because, my Lord…well..." he paused much too long, trying to put together just how to approach it.

"Speak up."

"She…Miss Hawkins… is not here, at least to my knowledge."

Erik's eyebrows raised. "Not here?" Oh sweet Lord, had she run away already? "Louis told me he had brought her to the door and left her right here in the foyer. He told her someone would be waiting to greet her…" he pointed to a small corner, "See, there…that must be her luggage."

Jarrod turned even paler, if that was possible. How did he not see those bags before?

"Why was there no one waiting, watching for the carriage?" Erik's voice rose when Jarrod gave no immediate reply.

"I do not know, my Lord, truly I do not! I had been working all day with Lillian on Miss Hawkins' room. Mary Ellen was the one who was to meet her."

"Did you not tell her to look for her arrival today?"

"I did, my Lord. When Miss Hawkins was not brought to me for introduction, I assumed, now erroneously, that she must have been taken to meet you at your office instead."

"Unacceptable, Jarrod." Erik's voice dropped in tone and rose even more in volume. "You are in charge of the staff; anything that goes wrong is on your head. Find Miss Hawkins immediately and bring her to the library. I will talk of reprimands later."

All Jarrod could do was bow his head in shame and dismiss himself quickly to find Miss Hawkins, thankful that Lord Erik didn't lose his temper anymore than he already had.

Ever since the odd arrangement with the American, the staff had noticed a change in their master. An eerie change.

And that in itself struck fear in them all. Which is why Jarrod was not surprised that the staff didn't come out to meet Miss Hawkins. What was it about this woman that would cause such a change in their usually quiet, even-tempered master?

* * *

Two hours passed exhaustingly slow and Isabella found herself sitting under a large apple tree, fanning herself against the warm afternoon as birds flew past and landed in the grass. She leaned forward and called to them and smiled as they came toward her ever so cautiously.

They were merely satisfying their curiosity at the new visitor on their land.

And apparently they were the only ones who did.

_One of the servants will take care of you_…. Louis had said.

If there _were_ servants, after nearly a half hour of standing in the foyer, calling in futility did nothing to summon them. She knew they were there, however. She could hear shuffling, see small shadows pass, hear tiny, faint whispers. Although she didn't understand why, it became perfectly clear that her presence at Haven Manor was completely unwelcome.

Nice. So be it. She wasn't going to force anyone to meet her.

That's how she found herself outside.

If anything could take away the obvious annoyance of being left to wonder a strange estate alone, it could be the sheer beauty of it. On closer inspection, it was easy for Isabella to see that the large body of water that she'd first spotted, even from as far away as the gate, was just that, a simple, but vast lake. Wide much more than it was deep, the water looked clear as glass and felt cool and refreshing over her hands. The sound of it softly rushing past told her that she would be spending many a day here.

Or moreso if no one came for her.

As she sat under the tree, she began to think even more about her future husband, the stranger she was sent to marry to save her family from her father's greed. What of him? Where was he? Did even he not care that she sat alone, waiting, wondering, worrying?

"Hello!" A voice could finally be heard, echoing through the deep valley. At first, Isabella thought she was hearing things. But within another minute, the voice grew louder, louder and more anxious.

"Over here!" she called out, then waited.

Nothing.

Finally, she stood up and while dusting off her gown, she heard it.

"Miss Hawkins!"

"I said, over here!" she yelled in response, waving her arms.

Only then did the gray haired man come towards her. On closer inspection, she could see he was dressed in a dark uniform.

A servant.

Well, there appeared to be someone willing to meet her. He didn't seem the type of hide in the shadows.

"Miss Hawkins, I presume?" Jarrod asked as he tried to catch his breath from running full sprint from the house. Luckily, Mary Ellen knew where she was. It made his job a bit easier. He took a second to gaze at the woman who would be the new Lady of Haven Manor. Although a bit rosy cheeked, no doubt from the warm sun, she seemed nice enough.

"Yes." Isabella answered, biting her tongue. She didn't wish to unleash her venom on him just yet, not until she knew if he was responsible for her being abandoned. Plus, he was staring at her and she wished he would stop.

He bowed deeply at the waist, "My deepest, most sincere apologies, Miss, I beg your forgiveness. I was unaware you had arrived. I was tending to duties in another part of the house. Had I known, I assure you I would have come to you immediately to welcome you…." He drifted off when he saw Isabella's expression had not changed.

"How can you not know someone is in the foyer of a home, uh…uh…"

"Jarrod, I am Lord Erik's personal butler, Miss."

"Jarrod. I called and called from the foyer, I was on the lower floor for a half hour before I came out here."

"Again, I am so terribly sorry for this, Miss. As I am an older man, my hearing is not as good as could be. I promise you, had I heard you, I would have come. Such negligence will not happen in the future."

She looked at the gentlemen, and could sense his remorse. His face furrowed in his embarrassment and she could see deep lines around his mouth. Perhaps, in hindsight, she could have yelled louder, but she didn't want to appear obnoxious. Proper English ladies didn't raise their voices, right?

"I suppose nothing is to be done of it now." She sighed. "At least you did come, not like the others."

"Others, Miss?"

She pointed toward a small side house that sat a good hundred yards from the main one. "There. Two women kept looking at me while I was walking around earlier, but when I turned around, they disappeared."

"Oh…Mary Ellen and Teresa." Jarrod sighed. "Do not be concerned with them, Miss. Everyone was a bit apprehensive at your arrival. They have never met an American lady. They are simply curious."

"We're no different than English ladies, I would assume. Perhaps just the way we speak is all."

"Of course not, Miss."

"If they'd bothered to come and meet me, they would have found that out themselves."

No argument, no nothing. She was left just staring at him.

With a cough, Jarrod finally said, "Perhaps you would like to go inside now, Miss? Lord Erik has arrived and asked for you."

_Finally_, she thought. With a nod, Jarrod took her arm and began to escort her.

Silence fell as Isabella could sense Jarrod's tension and anxiousness to get her inside quickly, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps he'd already been punished. She'd hoped not, not on her behalf.

More silence and another glance as they passed the side house.

The eyes again.

Isabella grinned broadly and the eyes disappeared.

_That'll teach them to snoop_, she laughed softly to herself.

"Was your journey here comfortable, Miss?" Jarrod asked.

"Relatively so, albeit rather boring, of course, but I filled my time reading and speaking with the other passengers." She answered as they entered the house and started down the long, main hallway that ran under the staircase. "Have you ever traveled by boat, Jarrod?"

"I have never traveled anywhere, by boat or otherwise, Miss Hawkins. I daresay, you are indeed braver than I."

"Nowhere?" she asked, stopping at the end of the hallway where a very tall set of exquisitely carved wood doors sat.

She watched as Jarrod took a moment to straighten his clothing before he knocked. And although he didn't instruct her to do so, she thought it best to remain silent to let him handle the introduction. Especially as she found she'd suddenly grown a bit nervous.

Good idea.

"Yes?" A deep, male voice rang out from inside. It flowed like water, yet the tone was sharp as a knife.

"My Lord, Miss Hawkins to see you." Jarrod said without opening the door.

"Come in, Miss Hawkins."

Only then did Jarrod push the doors open to reveal a large, open aired library to Isabella's view. The floors were of a much darker wood than the rest of the house and matched the beams that loomed overhead as well as the mantle of the fireplace that was so large, it took almost one end of a wall to itself. Shelves of books covered the remaining walls from floor to ceiling and with the exception of one nice sized, leather chaise lounge close to the window, there was no furniture in the room besides one very large, ornate wood desk that was straight ahead of the door, along the same wall as the fireplace. The whole room looked comfortable and inviting.

"Good afternoon."

The man that rose from the desk, however, was a different story.

Her eyes gazed over him from head to toe, just as she'd done with Dùghall earlier that day. But this time, she knew this was the right man. Her father had, without a doubt, been accurate in his physical description, almost too accurate. The mask _was_ there. But to her surprise, it was not as outwardly striking as she had envisioned it would be. It was pale, opaque in color and sat close to his face, almost molded so firmly to the skin that it could almost _be_ a second skin. Yet, she couldn't help but stare at it, not in fear, but in fascination. What was he hiding behind it?

Erik found her intense study of his mask rather disconcerting and in defense, he turned away and returned to a position behind his desk. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the top of it.

"Good afternoon." She spoke curtly, a tad embarrassed at her gawking, but still fairly annoyed by the fact that she had been left to wander an unfamiliar estate alone for so long. And she planned on telling him that fact, but...

"I understand that you had been left unescorted for some time now." He spoke before she could, "For that, I do apologize, but my staff was understandably shy. I shall reprimand them accordingly for their neglectfulness."

"No, that isn't necessary. Their behavior was understandable, unlike yours, however." She began, knowing that such a scolding her first day there wouldn't make things any easier. "I was actually more annoyed at _your_ absence."

"My absence, Miss Hawkins?" Erik's eyebrows raised.

"Yes, not only that you didn't take the courtesy to meet me at the boat, but that you weren't around here when I expected you to be." There, she said it. Such a fine Englishman, surely he would take exception to someone impugning his character.

"I was rather busy today. If you would care to sit, we can get on with the discussion of the business at hand." He spoke, seemingly unphased by what she'd said, gesturing for her to sit down in the chair in front of his desk.

Well, that went over nicely.

As she sat and could take in the whole picture of the man, the first thing she noticed about him, after the mask, was his hair. It was as dark as the wings of a blackbird and just a shiny. He didn't keep it slicked back as Louis', but let it fall loose, full and thick but with just a couple of small strands falling across his forehead.

"I assume you were treated well by my assistant on your journey?" he asked her as he sat and leaned forward.

"Treated well?"

"Yes. Appropriate at all times?"

And his eyes. They were not blue, nor brown, no green, nor hazel, but something in between. An almost amber color, yet she was sure that color truly didn't exist in anything except a late afternoon sunset. Those were eyes, she said to herself, that could very well cause a grown woman to fall to her knees and weep if they were weak enough to do so.

But she'd never be that weak.

"He was always an utmost gentleman."

And then there was his accent. It was far too smooth, deep in tone and fluid sounding to be English. No, it had to be French. She'd remembered French from spending a couple of days with a French couple on their way to settle in Boston. She recalled fondly how much she was intrigued by the way they spoke, the lilt of their voices, how they could tend to drift off into their native tongue when they became tired or animated.

So apparently, Lord Renault was actually French. She liked that.

Unfortunately, it was the only thing she liked about him, so far.

Erik almost lost himself momentarily by the sight of the woman that had walked into his library and spoken to him with such fortitude. Simon Hawkins hadn't lied when he said his daughter was lovely, but even then, his description lacked appropriate merit. He found her light colored hair quite nice when, at the angle she sat, it caught just a touch of the remaining sunlight. Her eyes were blue, deep blue like sapphires. Although he did have to admit, she was not terribly endearing at first glance because of the scowl she wore. His fault, of course. But all in all, she was certainly not what he expected.

He coughed at the sudden calm and soon, regaining his composure, he reminded himself that she was not there to be courted. Her one and only job was to produce him heirs. Nothing else would stand in the way.

Certainly not love.

But at least he'll enjoy looking at her, nonetheless.

"I am to assume you were explained the full nature of why you were summoned here?"

"Why I was sold? Yes, to some degree."

He chose to ignore the _sold_ comment, "Very well. I shall sum up again what will be expected. First, we will marry within the next day or so. Priest only, no ceremony, here at my home as not to attract attention. Second, to those around us, with the exception of my business partner, no one will know of this deception. In public, you will play the dutiful, happy wife. Here, you may do what you wish."

"What about your servants, do they know why I'm here, exactly?"

He nodded, "They were told. They know the penalty for not keeping the secret."

Her eyebrows raised. What penalty? She was sure only to ask that to herself.

"The home and grounds are at your disposal. I can assure you, you will not lack for things to do. You are welcome to borrow any book from my library, or make use of the stables and go for a ride. I do assume you ride?"

She nodded, although in truth, she had not ridden in years, but in her shock at his long soliloquy, she couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Fine. As for meals, I eat my breakfast in the dining room most days. I do not eat at home during lunch as I am working and, occasionally, I take my dinner here at home, depending on when I find the time. You are, of course at those times, welcome to join me, if not, you can dine where you see fit. The cook has been instructed to fix you anything you wish."

Again, she nodded.

"As for the staff."

She smirked, "Yes, the mysterious shadows…well, except for Dùghall, of course."

Erik stopped cold, his jaw clinching tight.

"Who instructed you to call him Dùghall?"

She sat up straight at his sudden, odd tone. "He did."

"No one calls him Dùghall, except for myself. Everyone else calls him Mister Godard. And even as my wife, you will always refer to him as Mister Godard, no matter what he wishes you to call him otherwise. He is available to help saddle a horse or drive you where you wish to go. Other than that, you will not socialize with him. I hope that is clear."

She nodded. Hell, she would have agreed that the sky was green then to risk seeing how he would have reacted if she'd balked him.

"As for the rest of the staff." He began once more, more like he was instructing an employee than talking to his future wife, "They are yours and will follow your orders as they would me. If they do not, I am expected to be informed immediately. Their quarters, except for Lillian's, are on the southern end of the estate, you are not to go there without my prior knowledge, is that understood?"

"Yes, but…"

He leaned forward, "But?"

"Who is Lillian?"

He ran his hand through his hair in thought and in doing so, his hand bumped the mask. It didn't move an inch and Isabella was convinced it was sewn to his face. She bit her lip to contain a building laugh. But if anything, the moment of tension served to calm Erik down and his demeanor softened.

"I had forgotten that the staff was not introduced to you. Lillian is one of the two housemaids and she will be of personal service to you as her room is located on the other end of the first floor." Then he called out, "Jarrod!"

Jarrod immediately opened the door and bowed, "Yes, my Lord?"

"Bring the staff for Miss Hawkins to meet, have them assembled in the foyer."

"Yes, my Lord."

When Jarrod exited, Isabella spoke up again, "Excuse me, Lord Renault?"

"Erik. I think it might be appropriate to call me by that name from now on, for practice sake."

"Perhaps yes, Erik."

"Do you have a question?"

"Yes, I am curious. Did my father inform you….well…that my last name is _not_ Hawkins? At least not anymore?"

With a smirk, Erik leaned even closer, his voice dropping. "Yes, I am aware you are a widow, but for the sake of those who might inquire, you are a maid, or were until we were married. Many among my circle met your father, so it was assumed you, as his unmarried daughter, were still Hawkins. When he spoke of you, he did not mention to anyone else but myself that you were widowed. Most would not find marrying a widow appropriate. It will be frowned upon as it is that you are American."

She chose not to ask why. Not because she was afraid to ask, but she was more afraid of the answer. Besides, too many other things were swirling around in her mind.

"Was that your only concern?"

"No, actually not. I was wondering about... well, our sleeping arrangements. Quite frankly, am I to assume we are to consummate this marriage?"

He allowed himself the slightest smirk. She was bold and not afraid to let her feelings be known. Very good.

"Not immediately, no. For now, your bedroom is located on the second floor, the far end. It has a nice view of the garden. Of course, I will want heirs, but until such time, I will not require we share the same bed."

She let out a very noticeable breath.

He raised an eyebrow, "Would that be such a terrible notion?"

She gasped, her hand moving to cover her mouth, "No, I'm terribly sorry, it's just that… we barely know one another and…"

He raised his hand, "Do not apologize. I do not love you anymore than you love me. This is a business arrangement, pure and simple. It would be a pleasant notion if we became friendly with one another, able to share a good conversation or a fine meal together, but it is up to you. Right now, I am simply quieting those who believe I will never marry or have children."

"That is all?" she asked.

He nodded. "I have a thriving and successful business in London. Your duty here is to produce heirs for me. Raise them to be good men, to take over that business when the time comes. For this, you shall live in comfort for the rest of your life and your family in America will lack for nothing."

Isabella blinked, then swallowed hard. Well, that summed it up. "I would say that was rather succinct."

"I am a blunt man, Miss Hawkins. I do not hold my tongue when it suits me."

"Perhaps you should refer to me as Isabella. For practice sake." She managed a smile, hoping he would answer with his own.

"Yes, perhaps, Isabella." He replied with a less stern face than before.

Close enough.

A knock, then, "Lord Erik?"

"Enter."

"My lord, the staff is assembled."

* * *

**A/N:** Hopefully, this is helping to lay it out better, but of course, there are tons of secrets in that household, so stay tuned. Thanks for the reviews I've gotten so far. I noticed a lot of people are listing this as a fav story and putting it on alert. That's so cool! I hope that those who do that, take the time to review as well. It helps an author to know who's reading what they wrote, even if its just a simple note. :) 


	4. Chapter 4 Lady Sutton Arrives

Haven

Chapter Four:

_She stood silently, listening to her husband's retelling of him and Erik's unusual meeting. Only when he finished, did she pale and sink into her chaise. _

"_This is sheer madness, Thomas." Her voice was much firmer than normal, he noticed right away._

"_Yes, Elizabeth, but it has been arranged and I fear there is nothing we can do to stop it."_

"_To think, this poor girl, being removed from her home, from her vocation to move to another country to be the wife of a man she has never met. All because her father could not keep his hands clean."_

_Thomas sat down and held his wife's hand. "Yes, very sad, but very true. But who are we to judge the decision between two grown, responsible men?"_

"_Seemingly, Thomas, seemingly responsible. If I did not know Erik so well I would assume they were both quite intoxicated when they struck this insane deal."_

_Thomas could only chuckle, but slightly. It was not wise to upset Elizabeth anymore than she already was._

"_I will speak to him" she continued on, "surely he would listen to me, he always has in the past…."_

"_No, my dear. Not this time. His mind is quite set. It is done."_

_She paused and sighed._

"_I suddenly feel so helpless, what am I to do, love?"_

"_Help the young woman get settled, perhaps to not feel so alone." He pulled her hand to his lips ever so delicately, "after all, she is going to be dealing with a new life, a new future, she will need a friend."_

"_Then a friend she shall have."_

Elizabeth Dutton could only shake her head, thinking back to the conversation between her and her husband a little over three weeks ago. Even after all the time that had passed since then, she still couldn't fathom, much less accept Erik's decision.

She knew Lord Erik Renault to be one of the most intelligent businessmen she had ever seen. He was always kind to her, even humorous at times. He was always fair and never overly harsh with his staff. Yet, for such an attractive, eligible bachelor, when it came to the art of love, he could turn downright cold. Fine ladies, the marrying type? Those never appealed to him.

She was not ignorant, however. Although Thomas would nervously skirt the issue, she had been told by Lillian on more than one occasion that Erik _was_ spending his lonelier evenings with women… paid women. Elizabeth knew why. It was easier for Erik to seduce these women, seduce them, then send them away with a few coins in their purse. No emotional attachment. That was the key. The less emotion he put into a woman, the better.

Something happened, she had told Thomas on their way home one evening last Spring after a botched attempt at having Erik court Lady Burrows. Something in Erik's past that caused him so much pain, that he refused to let his guard down around a woman that he could fall in love with. After all, Lady Emelie Burrows was young, very beautiful and definitely had an eye for Erik. Why would he _not_ wish to court her? But he barely spoke two words to her that evening, then retired to his library without a parting word, leaving her practically in tears.

But that was for another day's recollection.

Today, what was on Elizabeth's mind was finding Miss Hawkins and preparing to apologize profusely for her untimely delay.

It was her fault, really. Thomas had informed her that morning that the boat from America was expected, so determined to meet her as soon as she arrived to Erik's estate, she chose to find her a proper welcoming gift.

She'd heard briefly from the American man, Miss Hawkins' father, that Isabella loved music. So, deciding to find her a music box, she began searching through the smaller vendors in the nearby village, but she found nothing she liked. Determined to find her something to make her feel at home, she ordered her coach to take her into London. There, she found a beautiful music box made of polish mahogany and hand painted with yellow flowers. It played Braham's Lullaby, one of her favorite melodies and she hoped it was one of Isabella's as well.

So she was happy with the gift, but in doing so, she realized it was already late afternoon. She only prayed that perhaps the boat was delayed or the ride from Southampton took longer than expected. Elizabeth had already heard from Lillian that the staff was apprehensive at the prospect of an unknown Lady living there, so she knew they wouldn't rush to greet her.

And that thought made her terribly nervous.

Pulling up to the estate, Elizabeth saw Jarrod open the door and walk out to help her exit the carriage.

"Afternoon, my Lady." He said, holding out his hand to her.

She took it and stepped out, looking around, "Good afternoon, Jarrod. Has Miss Hawkins arrived?"

"Yes, my Lady. She is in the foyer with Lord Erik. He is introducing her to the staff."

They approached the door, "Very well. I hope she has been well taken care of so far."

Jarrod scowled, immediately turning embarrassed, "Afraid not, my Lady. She was left alone almost two hours before Lord Erik returned home."

That made Elizabeth wince outwardly in annoyance. "For heaven's sake, why did no one greet and keep her company? She may be American, but she is not a leper."

"I would wish to say miscommunication, my Lady, but you know as I do, the staff was most unsettled about having a newcomer to the estate. I, for my part, was unaware of her arrival until Lord Erik returned home. Louis returned to the office to inform him that she had been taken to the house. When Dùghall drove Lord Erik home, he was none the wiser. I believe they all assumed she would be greeted properly. I have already made my apologies."

Elizabeth merely nodded and steadied herself as Jarrod opened the door. What would she find? An angry woman who had no interest in meeting anyone, or perhaps find a downtrodden soul who was homesick and sobbing uncontrollably? At this point, it was a toss up.

But what she certainly didn't expect was to find the foyer empty.

* * *

"_He gives you sexual pleasure." He said, his voice had almost drained to nothing._

"_Yes." The woman answered flatly._

"_Pleasure I could not."_

"_Yes."_

"_You are leaving me for him."_

"_Yes, Erik."_

"_But, we were happy, were we not?" The man's heart was breaking. How could he have not seen this coming? What did he do wrong?_

"_Happy?" the woman laughed out loud sarcastically, but just as fast, it died away and in its stead, her face turned blank. "You know nothing of giving anyone happiness. You spoiled, arrogant man. You assumed all you had to do was choose me and I would just be more than happy to be on your arm, simply because of your name, your pedigree, your wealth. I suppose I should have been happy, Erik? Honored that you chose me, a low life, and pulled me out of the gutter…."_

"_I gave you everything…"_

"_You gave me nothing! It does not upset you that I am leaving you, Erik. What upsets you is that, for the first time since your birth, you are being denied something that you want…"_

"_Stop it…" his anger grew inside like an impending erupting volcano. _

"…_and that tears you apart."_

"_I said stop…"_

"_Control, you cannot control me any longer and you hate it. I will not be your little puppet!"_

_Erik panted, his breath raspy, "You are _not_ leaving me."_

"_I am."_

"_Not for him!"_

"_Yes, for him!_

_A crash, then…_

"_No!"_

Erik's thoughts returned to the present as he heard what appeared to be a door slam and two voices speaking. One was a man, Jarrod and the other was louder, a female. He removed his pocket watch and tossed it down on his desk. Three-thirty.

Elizabeth, it must be. After all, he'd been expecting her since the early morning. She would have choice words for him.

If she chose to speak to him at all.

No, this was definitely not how he'd expected things to go.

Isabella Hawkins.

The American woman had sat and listened to his almost fanatical instructions, never balking, not one time. He must have made a wonderful first impression. Even _he_ could hardly believe half of what had come out of his mouth, but with no regret, he knew it was necessary.

It was important that Miss Hawkins know, right from the beginning, that this was not an act of love, but of business, pure and simple. Yet, he'd seen her and for a brief moment, all of that façade came close to slipping away. She was in every way, the kind of woman he would have loved to…the kind of woman he _did_…see socially. Except for her sharp tongue of course. That was definitely not a trait of the younger, more timid English women Elizabeth had tried to set him up with in the past.

And he found he was growing a preference to it.

"I thought you said…" Elizabeth started, looking over at Jarrod.

"They were here, I assure you. He must have dismissed them. I could find…wait, my Lady!" Jarrod called out, running after the ever anxious Lady Sutton as she headed straight down the hallway to Erik's library door.

"I will speak to him myself."

"He is not up to receiving…" he closed his mouth quickly as she knocked, then gasped as she entered without a reply. Even Lord Sutton himself always waited to be invited in. No one was even remotely allowed to enter otherwise.

But apparently, Elizabeth didn't care.

And when he heard no protest from inside, he concluded that Lord Erik must not have cared either.

When Elizabeth walked inside, she found Erik behind his desk writing and her eyes quickly scanned the room. He was alone.

She stood patiently and waited for him to speak.

She closed the door loudly to get his attention.

And continued to wait.

"Well?" she finally said impatiently when it seemed he wasn't going to acknowledge her.

"Good afternoon." His reply was short, never even looking up.

This was not like him at all. No matter what, he always rose in her presence, offering his hand. She knew his demeanor had been unusually harsh since the American man's departure, but he always took a moment to be a gentleman. Now, she didn't know what to think.

She coughed.

Silence.

"Where is she?"

"In the garden, Lillian prepared her some tea."

"Do you find her…?" her words eluded her, momentarily.

"Find her what?"

"Acceptable. Do you find her acceptable?"

"Within reason."

"What on earth does that mean, Erik?"

Finally, he looked up.

And felt ashamed of himself.

The sight of the always kind, warm hearted woman, wearing an upset and disappointed expression, caused him to soften slightly. He held her in the highest esteem; certainly she didn't deserve to be treated with such disrespect. He scolded himself inside.

"My apologies," He sighed with a short pause, "at this point, I am not sure what to think, actually."

"It is not difficult, Erik. Is she nice, friendly?"

"She was annoyed."

"For being left alone, I do not blame her." She retorted sharply. "Other than that, was she…?"

"She is in every way I could see, a good lady."

"Very well. And?"

He inhaled a deep breath and decided to let his feelings be known. Besides, Elizabeth knew him too well and would do nothing but hound him otherwise, "She is a bit rough around the edges, I suppose due to her long journey. I found her lovely to look at and she was civil, once we began talking. I found she was much friendlier with the staff as I introduced her to them. She has a nice smile when she is inclined to show it. Although, not much in my direction. Granted, with my delay, I did not give her much to smile about. Is that what you wished to hear, Elizabeth?"

Did she just detect a bit of regret in his voice? She was almost elated.

"Thank you, Erik. That _is_ all I wanted to hear."

He rolled his eyes then asked, "What is that you have there?" noting the package in her hands. It was wrapped in brown velvet and tied with light blue ribbon.

"A welcoming gift for Miss Hawkins. Someone around here might as well at least try to make her feel as if she is welcome."

Erik winced. He'd failed in that area as well. In his effort to keep the arrangement business-like, he'd completely forgotten his manners. He should have at least met Miss Hawkins with a dozen roses, considering she'd sailed across the ocean to marry him. It was the least he could have done.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go make my introduction and see if there is anything she needs, or desires."

"I would assume she desires going home and forgetting this silly nonsense."

Without a reply, Elizabeth walked past Erik and went out the side door to the garden, leaving only her scent behind that wafted past his nose. Although he would never tell a soul, he did miss the soft, natural scent of a proper lady nearby. A stark contrast to the women he usually kept time with. He inhaled and sighed.

_Lucky man, Thomas is. So very lucky._

There were so many times he did wish he could… but no, never would he open his heart to another lady again. But there were viable alternatives.

Perhaps a call to one of his…favored _women_…. would be in order.

* * *

"Do you find the garden to your liking?"

Isabella turned sharply at the sound of a most exuberant voice. The woman that it came from appeared both gracious and charming. A smile, finally, a genuine smile from someone that seemed anxious to meet her, not just an obliged member of Erik's staff.

"Good afternoon and yes, I do." She replied, confused, as she sat down her tea and began to stand.

"No, no…do not rise on my account." Elizabeth went to her side, sitting on the large stone bench. She took her hand, "You are indeed tired from your long journey, rest."

"I suppose I'm rather tired at that." Isabella smiled.

"I am Lady Elizabeth Dutton, but please, do not call me anything but Elizabeth." She held her hands tighter. "I am so pleased to finally meet you in person. I anticipated your arrival for nearly a month now."

In her sheer relief, Isabella almost gushed. She recognized the woman's name from Dùghall earlier that day. The immediate assumption was that Lady Sutton would be much older, an almost snobbish English socialite. Yet, from what Isabella could see, they could almost be of the same age and she was certainly not snobbish. Could it be she's already made a friend? "Please, call me Isabella. I'm pleased to meet you."

"I do apologize for the lateness of my visit. I had intended to be here when you arrived, but I was unavoidably detained. I feel just horrible that you were treated so bad your first day here, but I do hope that has changed." Elizabeth glared up at Lillian, who, upon her arrival, had slipped away from Isabella's side and was playing with a flower nearby.

Lillian, who was rather shy for her twenty-four years, blushed profusely, "Oh no, ma'am…I have been seeing to her every need since I knew she was here." She spoke quickly in her heavily cockney accented voice, so much so that Isabella had a difficult time understanding. In fact, her 'ma'am' came out sounding more like 'mum', which drew a slight giggle every time she said it.

"Yes, Lillian has been quite nice, thank you. She'd been spending the day fixing up my new room and didn't know I was here." Isabella agreed. "In hindsight, I could have been louder in the foyer…"

"No, stop now. None of this is your fault. So, no more of that talk, right?"

This woman was too good to be true.

The smile returned to Elizabeth's face. "Now…on to the reason for my tardiness." She set the small box she'd been holding in Isabella's lap.

"What is this?" she asked her.

"A small welcoming gift for you."

"That was not necessary, I…"

"Nonsense. Please, open it."

With an almost childlike grin, Isabella removed the ribbon and velvet covering, which Lillian took and put in her pocket so quickly she hardly had a chance to examine them, and opened the box. She gasped.

"Oh goodness!" she slowly removed the music box, staring at it in fascination. How did she know she loved music boxes?

"I was hoping you liked the color and style of it."

"I do, it's just lovely!" she exclaimed, opening the lid of the music box.

Brahm's Lullaby. She remembered it from her childhood. It was one of the songs that she learned to play on the piano when she was a kid. It was soothing and immediately made her feel less homesick.

"Is it a favorite of yours?" Elizabeth asked.

"Oh yes. This is the first time I have ever heard the melody from a music box. Where did you find it?"

"I purchased it in London, at a beautiful store there. The man hand-makes them himself. Perhaps one day we could go there and you could see his other work." Elizabeth continued to watch her eyes glisten as she turned the music box in her hands, examining each and every inch.

"I would love that. And thank you for such a wonderful gift."

"I heard from your father that you loved music, do you have other music boxes?"

"Only one but I didn't bring it with me. My grandmother's. I don't believe my mother would have been able to part with it." She laughed softly.

"Well, you have a new one and pretty soon, if you wish, you can find more to add and you can build quite a collection."

"Oh, in time, I'm sure…" she dreamed wistfully, "Once I make some money, somehow."

"There is no need for you to make money, Erik has more than enough to buy you what you desire."

"I can't possibly spend his money on such things…"

"Why not?"

"Because it's not my money." Isabella answered. My God, did any woman earn her own money over here?

"Nonsense, Isabella. His money is yours now that you will be married." Elizabeth tried to assure her. "Yes, I know that this is strictly for business, but he has enough to spare."

"Do you and Lord Sutton have children, Elizabeth?"

She smiled at her, "It is Thomas and yes, we have one son, Alexander. He is eleven years old. But he does not live here with us, he is off at school. We returned three days ago from taking him to the academy in Rochford. It is his fourth year there and he is quite the scholar. He is also a fine athlete. But I do go on, do I not?" she let out a giggle.

"Understandably so, you're a proud mother."

"And I understand you are a widow?"

Isabella stiffened, but managed to nod.

"I am so terribly sorry. Did you have children?"

"Oh no, we were waiting before having children. He died two years into our marriage." She said quickly, then let it just lay there, choosing to say no more and hoping Elizabeth wouldn't pry. When she didn't, Isabella continued somberly, "You know then that Lord…I mean…Erik…wants children, right?"

"Yes, I know." Elizabeth gave her a sympathetic, but supportive look. "He only requires one, maybe two at the most, I hear. And for all that, you will have freedom, prestige and the run of the house."

Isabella sighed. She didn't want the run of the house, she just wanted to go home. Yet, even as nice as Elizabeth was, it seemed she supported the idea just as the others did.

"My Lady?" Jarrod came into the garden.

Both women turned around, laughed at their own confusion, then glanced at one another, thankful for the tension breaker.

"Which one did you wish to see, Jarrod?" Elizabeth asked.

"You, my Lady. Lord Thomas has arrived."

With a smile, she took Isabella's hand, "Come, I will be proud to introduce you to my husband. Like myself, he is quite anxious to meet you."

* * *

A/N: I know it seems as if I'm focusing a lot on Isabella right now but please don't lose interest, Erik's going to be getting more attention now. I just needed to establish her and how things are at Haven Manor. Thanks for the reviews and for listing this story among your favorites and alerts. Next chapter may take a few days, just so you all are aware. Writing it now and since its Erik, I want to get it just right. 


	5. Chapter 5 A Letter Home

Haven

Chapter Five:

_22 August 1889_

_Dearest Mother,_

_I apologize for my delay in writing this second letter, as I have been rather busy settling in. It is the morning of my fifth day here, yet it feels as if the time is running together. I have hardly had time to breathe._

_I was married yesterday._

_I thought I would be more nervous, Mother, being it was such a big day, but I suppose since I hardly regarded it as a wedding between two people in love, I did not feel the need to shed a tear of happiness. I daresay, the best part of the whole thing was that Erik, to my delighted surprise, provided me with a most lovely gown. On the back of this letter, I have sketched a drawing of it for you. It has a very flattering empire waist and the material is cream colored silk. It has blue lace and ribbons running down the front and along the bottom. I wore my hair up this time, just as you'd always envisioned and the veil was very light, adorned with little flowers and it clipped to my bun like a hairpin. I have already taken great pains to store the gown in tissue paper in hopes of preserving it. _

_The ceremony was as Erik said it would be, short and with no guests but the Lord and Lady Sutton and the staff. Lord Thomas Sutton stood up for Erik as best man and his wife, Elizabeth stood for me as maiden of honor. We repeated short vows, he placed the ring on my finger and I held my breath, wondering if he would kiss the bride, but when the priest didn't even say the words after pronouncing us man and wife, I do have to confess, I was a bit disappointed. I had hoped that would have been the moment that Erik let his guard down, just for a few moments._

_So, instead of dwelling on what could have been, I shall concentrate on what is. First, let me tell you about the main staff. First of all, there is Jarrod, Erik's personal butler. He runs the household efficiently, except for the mix-up in meeting me that first day as I told you in my last letter. He treats me respectfully and is always available when I need him, but tends mostly to Erik's needs. I know he's an older man and has been with Erik for many years, but I don't know how long or the circumstances by which he was employed. I heard from Elizabeth that he was around fifty-five years old, by her estimation. You remember Elizabeth from my last letter, right?_

_Lillian. She is my personal maid. This has taken some getting used to. She's a lovely girl, but a bit difficult to understand at times because she speaks so fast. She tends to be a bit private, but I have been able to get from her that she's been employed by Erik for about two years. She's most capable and keeps my room spotless and organized. She runs my bath for me, helps me dress (although truly, I can dress myself) and she brushes out my hair for me at night. She brings me anything I wish, at all hours. She says I can even awaken her if I need to, but don't worry, I haven't done so._

_There is another housemaid by the name of Mary Ellen. As you recall, she was the one who was to meet me, but she was too apprehensive. Erik was going to reprimand her in front of me that first day, but I persuaded him not to. I think that went far with not only her, but the rest of the staff. She's opened up to me a bit now, although I think she's still a little leery. Truly, I feel she is more shy than anything. She's much older than myself, perhaps around fifty like Jarrod. Lillian tells me there is a rumor in the house that he and Mary Ellen are possibly courting, but she can't confirm it. _

_Another one I like a lot is Teresa. She is the cook. At first she was very reluctant to meet me as well, but she has warmed up since the first day. She's very funny and quite boisterous and her food is absolutely wonderful. She has wanted to make some more American type dishes for me, but quite frankly, the ones she has prepared so far have been just fine._

_And finally, there is Dùghall Godard. I spoke of him briefly in my last letter as the young man that I had mistaken for Erik at the dock. He is Erik's personal driver and he also helps run the stables. He's been in charge of saddling a horse for me every day so that I can ride around the estate. I have had a chance to speak with him briefly, but only in general terms as Erik has all but forbade me to socialize with him. In fact, he's told me that I'm to address him as Mister Godard, but for the life of me, I don't know why. But, as I'm still not comfortable here, I have little choice but to comply._

_Erik._

_I went into just short detail in my previous letter because I knew so little of him. I wish I could say its different now, but I'm afraid he's still a bit elusive. As of this letter, we have dined together three times now at breakfast and twice at dinner. I do find that he does hold pleasant conversation. He is well spoken, very intelligent and seems to listen when I speak. But at this time, we have only been talking about general subjects, such as the weather. He has asked me a few small questions, mostly about Delaware, but he doesn't seem to wish to know much more about me than that._

_Again, I don't know what I would have done without Elizabeth. Although she's quite the talker, she has been such a wealth of information about protocol and proper English etiquette. She and I have been spending many hours together each day getting to know one another and she now feels I'm prepared to meet many of Erik's business and social associates. He says he plans to have a gathering at the house to introduce me as his wife within the next week. I'm waiting to see if he has a lie in mind as to how we met or if he chooses to simply tell them nothing. I shall let you know after it has happened._

_I hope you are well, Mother and look forward to your first letter. I miss you terribly, but please know that I'm well and healthy, so don't worry. I hope that you have given my new address to Jackson by now and I look forward to hearing from him in the future. Please let me know as soon as his third child is born, I know Elisa was due soon._

_And again, as I said in my last letter in regards to Father._

_I still have nothing to say to him._

_With love,_

_Belle_

Isabella closed the letter into the envelope and sealed it shut tight before sliding it into her pocket. Once again, she would have Dùghall…Mister Godard….get it to the courier for her.

Standing by the open door of her bedroom, she turned to view it again. She could hardly believe it had been decorated just for her with just the few tidbits of information that her father had provided. The walls, accented with lovely yellow rose wallpaper, were covered with beautiful seascape paintings, the floors with plush, soft rugs. Her bed was at least twice the size of her old bed and was so full of down feather filling that she sunk at least six inches when she laid on it. There were ten different colored pillows for her to rest her head upon and a bedcovering of plush, light blue satin that just glided along her skin. The fireplace nearby was quite large, and by her estimation of the cleanliness, had never been lit. She found herself almost anxious for the colder weather so she could see a fire inside it. But even with the chilly mornings of late August, she couldn't remember when she'd ever slept so warm and comfortable.

Also, to her delight, she had her own private bathroom. It was white marble with its own smaller fireplace (also seemingly unused) and a large porcelain sink. The bathtub, she mused as she sunk into it for the first time, was so large, she was sure it could fit three other people. That, in fact, had already become a nightly ritual for her, relaxing in a nice hot bath. It was so soothing, a couple of times she almost fell asleep in it. Thank goodness Lillian checked up on her.

But her favorite was by far, the dressing table.

It, as well as the matching, massively large chest, was painted white with gold trim and had the largest mirror behind it that she'd ever seen. The bench was cozy and plenty wide enough to accommodate her large gowns. Of course, to her surprise, when she sat down in front of it to brush out her wet hair that first night, there were already perfumes, powders and jewelry waiting for her. She gleefully sampled each and every one.

Closing the door so that Lillian could clean the room for the day (although she knew it wasn't dirty, but the girl had her duty), she started down the hallway toward the stairs to find Dùghall, but stopped just short of it. Something still nagged at her. Slowly, she looked up to the third floor.

Truly, it wasn't a third floor on closer examination, but only a closed door at the end of a short walkway. She studied it closely, wondering why it was kept closed off and so dark. It was such a noticeable contrast from that of the other two, well sunlit and open floors.

_Well, why not_? She asked herself as she started carefully up the stairs. After all, she'd been told by Mary Ellen that she could look around any part of the house that she wished and so far this was the only part she hadn't seen.

Because, she mused as the loose, neglected floorboards under her creaked, it was the only room that seemed a bit foreboding.

And as she reached the door and turned the knob, she was shocked to find it was the only room that was locked.

She continued to turn the knob, her eyes narrowing. Strange. This didn't appear to be any form of an attic. She observed the rest of the walkway. With the exception of a couple of small paintings on the wall and a tiny table by the door, it was vacant. It was also gray with dust and cobwebs, so definitely no one's been there to tidy. Odd.

_Umph_…Even Erik's room wasn't locked.

"My lady!"

Isabella quickly spun around to find Lillian racing up the stairs to her.

"Mum (she knew it was ma'am, but she thought mum was endearing) …you should not be here now." The maid whispered firmly.

"Why is this door locked, Lillian?"

"I dunno, Mum…it has been that way since I came here. I asked Mary Ellen once and even she did not know. All she told me was that a maid came up here years ago, curious as you are now. Lord Erik caught her and it was said that he whipped her mercilessly. She never came up here again." Lillian told her, pulling on Isabella's arm down the stairs. "I do not want that to happen to you."

Whipped her mercilessly? The thought sent a shudder through her. But no, it couldn't be true. As distant as he seems, he doesn't appear the type prone to such violence. It was just rumor. Scuttlebutt. But, to calm down the now wide-eyed Lillian, she'd do as she asked.

But silently, rumor or no rumor, she was determined to see what was in that room.

"Good morning, my Lady." Dùghall said, peeking inside the front door as Lillian and Isabella came down the staircase.

"Good morning to you, Mister Godard." She noticed him rubbing his hands together against the unusually chilly morning.

"Morning, Lillian." The young man's face seemed to instantly light up at the sight of the lovely blonde haired maid.

"Morning, Mister Godard." She replied with an equal glow.

Isabella was pleased at the exchange. _Ah, Lillian and Mister Godard, huh_? They seemed to fit. "Please come in, there is a fire in the living room, warm yourself."

Tempting, but too risky. "Oh no, I am not allowed, but thank you, my Lady." Dùghall answered quickly, knowing Erik was some where around.

She approached the door and opened it wider, "Why on earth not?"

"Only house staff can come and go as they please, not field workers. I am not a member of the house staff, therefore only Lord Erik can allow me inside and he never has."

Dùghall, for his part, spoke only half of the truth. Although he couldn't understand why, from the first moment Louis hired him over three years ago, he'd never been allowed into the house, even though he knew other field workers _could_ come and go, at least as far as the kitchen. Erik, in contrast to how he spoke to the others on the staff, hardly spoke to him other than to give an order or to reprimand him for something trivial. Dùghall, at times, envied the way his master spoke to the others and tried to be respectful and obedient, but Lord Erik's demeanor never softened.

And the cold, backhanded form of formality. That was also confusing.

He knew he'd slipped up telling Isabella to call him by his first name, but assuming she was going to be Lady of Haven Manor, she would address him the same as Lord Erik. Yet he was told rather firmly by Louis that she wouldn't, nor would she be allowed to socialize with him more than within reason. It upset him as he liked Isabella and had looked forward to speaking with her on many occasions in the future.

He'd tried to find out in the past why he was the only servant ordered to be addressed as such, but no one seemed to know.

No one but Erik and he certainly wasn't going to ask him.

"You've never been inside the house?" Isabella couldn't believe her ears.

Lillian quickly joined her, "No mum, never. And I would be fearful to know what would happen if he did."

"Well, I will simply find Erik and have him give you permission."

Both Lillian and Dùghall nearly screamed out in panic.

"Please, no Mum! Do not do that!" Lillian begged.

"Please do not," Dùghall added, "I am quite warm and besides, he would reprimand me, believing I asked you to do it."

She opened her mouth to question, to protest, but the anxious looks from both Dùghall and Lillian told her she shouldn't.

"I was told you wished to deliver another letter, my Lady?" Dùghall continued as if nothing else had transpired, but he kept his eyes glued on the foyer.

"Why, yes," she brought it from her pocket, "here you are."

He took the letter and slipped it into his jacket pocket, "I shall deliver it to the courier after I take Lord Erik into London."

"Very well, thank you, Mister Godard."

He nodded and with a quick goodbye wink to Lillian, he left to gather the carriage.

"A most fine man." Isabella noted as she closed the door, then saw Lillian grin broadly. "Do you not agree, Lillian?"

The young lady blushed and stammered, "Why, yes mum…I…"

Confirmed.

Isabella whispered in her ear, "Say no more, don't worry, I won't tell a soul."

"Good morning to you, my Lady!" Teresa called out as she walked out of the dining room. "I was just on my way to fetch you!"

"Good morning, Teresa." She smiled to herself. My, but that woman could be quite loud when she took the notion.

"Breakfast is ready. I shall seat you in the dining room, then inform Lord Erik."

"No, I shall take her." Lillian offered, taking Isabella's arm.

"I am the cook, I am to take Lady Isabella to breakfast." Teresa protested, taking Isabella's other arm.

"No, I shall do it." Lillian now became rather insistent.

She now amusingly found herself in the middle of a servant tug of war.

"No, me!" Teresa's voice rose.

"It is my job, I will do it!"

"No! I must seat her at the dining table, I have done it all along, Lillian, now let go."

Isabella looked between them back and forth like a tennis match.

And she was the ball.

"Ladies…I can very well walk myself to…"

"I'll do it Teresa, now let her go!"

"Stop it, Lillian!"

"Enough!" a booming voice called out from behind them all.

The two maids froze where they stood and Isabella's head turned sharply to see Erik approaching quickly from the direction of the main hall. He must have been in his library.

She quickly noted that Erik was without his jacket, cravat and vest, wearing just a crisp, white shirt and his usual dark trousers. She could only assume that he didn't expect to be summoned by a fight. It was the first time she'd seen him in this much more relaxed manner. It was also the first time she'd seen…were those scars?

Yes, in flashes between glances, careful not to make it obvious she was peeking, she could see a series of scars that ran down from the bottom edge of his mask and disappeared into the open collar of his shirt. They were not merely surface blemishes, as least as far as she could tell, but much deeper, red valleys that sunk into the skin. _Fascinating_. She envisioned touching that section of scars with her finger, then slowly tracing it downward, wondering where it ended….

"What is the problem here?" Erik's voice roared deeply, "I could hear the two of you screeching like alley cats all the way down the hall!"

Isabella jumped, immediately seizing her curious looks. Both Lillian and Teresa opened their mouths, but neither could form words.

"It's alright, Erik. I think there was a mix up in the duties." Isabella explained softly once she found her voice again. She knew there was no need for a big hassle.

"A mix up?"

"Yes, typically I'm in my room at this time of morning, so Teresa has been bringing me down to breakfast. Today, I had an early start, so Lillian was with me. She was going to do it and well…" she spread her arms, gesturing to the stunned maids.

"And for this, they chose to split you in half?" he asked her, his face softening, his voice returning to its normal tone.

And in one amazing moment, the air immediately thinned as the tension left.

"It was funny actually. I quite imagined myself as a large rope in a tug of war."

He smiled down at her, satisfied that she was not offended by the maid's immature spat. He was growing to like her with each passing meeting. He was also happy, on his part, to discover that he was looking forward to those meetings now, even if it was just a meal. She was very bright and seemed to enjoy asking about and speaking of events she'd read about in the newspapers or comparing the muggy summer afternoons to the much drier weather in Delaware. Although he'd been lax in asking a lot about her, and revealing even less of himself, he'd learned that she was looking forward to seeing the theatre and that, although she loved music, she'd never seen a live orchestra concert.

He'd instantly resolved to remedy that, as soon as possible.

"Well, then I am to assume that breakfast has been prepared?" he asked Teresa.

"Yes, my Lord…" Teresa coughed, "It is already on the dining room table."

"Then I shall solve this argument now." He held out his arm to Isabella, "May _I_ take you to breakfast?"

Did she just see that? Did he actually do something…how would she put it…husbandly? She couldn't wait to tell Elizabeth. With a smile, she took his arm and nodded.

That satisfied him and with a smirk, he noted to himself not to forget those roses either.

* * *

"Here you are, my Lady." Teresa removed the dome of her plate as Erik pushed her chair in for her.

Pancakes, sausages and potatoes. This was the third breakfast she'd had and each time it had been different. French toast, eggs with ham, toasted bread with fresh fruit…she was wondering what Teresa would do when she ran out of ideas…start over again?

Isabella picked up her cup of coffee. Sugar and a touch of cream, just like she liked it. "It looks wonderful, thank you."

Teresa smiled as she removed the dome off Erik's plate. As always, he'd had the same breakfast every day. Croissants with strawberry jam and black coffee.

"Thank you." He said politely to her as she left the dining room.

"A chilly morning so far, would you not agree?" Erik started, taking a sip of coffee.

"Yes, pleasantly so, I would say. The past couple of afternoons had been positively stifling." Isabella nodded, then took an inward sigh.

_No, no more talk of weather. Please, say something else, anything_! Her mind screamed, not just at Erik, but at herself.

Erik, at the other end of the table, studied his new wife closely as he smeared a bit of jam onto his croissant. He knew deep down inside he should speak about something more personal, but what? He could speak to a group of men about money, business mergers, accounts, buy outs. Women? He used to be a pro. He could have any woman enticed, hanging on his every word….but not anymore…not since...

Now, he froze. What could he do to break the tension…oh!

He coughed, "I have planned the dinner party."

Isabella's eyes widened, more than grateful for the new topic of conversation. "Oh? For when?"

"On Saturday evening, actually. A small gathering, mind you, perhaps just about ten of my closer associates and their wives."

She almost choked on her bite of pancake. Twenty people?

He could see her sudden change in mood, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes of course."

"I tried to keep the guest list short as to not overwhelm you."

She laughed inside. Keep it down? She tried to resist the urge to ask what a usual guest list entailed, but….

"What's the number of invitations you usually send out for occasions such as this?"

"The last time I entertained, I had two hundred guests."

This time she _did_ choke. "Two hundred?" she squeaked, grabbing for her glass of juice.

He couldn't help it. The look on Isabella's face was priceless. He began to laugh.

And he laughed, deeply.

And the sound to Isabella's ears was glorious.

Normally, she hated being laughed at, the butt of a joke she didn't find funny, but how could she possibly be irritated at the man at the other end of the table finally showing he had a humorous side? She'd fall over tables and chairs if he'd keep making that sound.

But slowly, his laughter died down.

"I apologize."

Her eyes narrowed, "What on earth for? I liked it."

"Liked what?" he asked.

"Your laugh. I like your laugh." She answered, then turned away slightly as she felt her face warm. Dear Lord, was she blushing? Certainly not at her age.

That caught Erik off guard. "Well," he tried to think of something equally complimentary, but everything jumbled together. Finally, all he could get out was, "I like your…I like…_you_." He'd hoped it was enough.

And the wordless, astounded expression that formed on her face told him it was.

"In any event, I did not mean to laugh at your expense." He continued on.

"Oh… don't apologize for that. I am sure I looked rather amusing, choking the way I did, but I do not even believe there are even two hundred people living in Amsville, much less attending a party. It seems unfathomable."

"I suppose it does. If it pleases you, I shall simply cancel the dinner party until you are feeling more settled in."

"No, I'm fine. Don't go to the trouble. I'll find Elizabeth and she'll help me. I suppose it is time I started learning to play hostess."

His smile broadened. How lovely and gracious she was to help out when he knew she was still homesick. "Very well. I'll have Madame Ducet send over a gown for you."

"Send one?"

"Yes, is there a problem?"

Yes, she could say that. She'd been dying to leave the estate and go somewhere, anywhere, do anything other than sit around and read, but had been apprehensive to ask, until now. Things were now going so well, she thought she'd take a shot.

"Her gowns are lovely of course, but…well, I was hoping maybe I could go to her shop myself. You know, go with Elizabeth and choose my own gown. Besides, I'd like to see London, I've been here nearly a week and have yet to leave the estate further than to visit Waverly."

His eyes glistened, but at the same time, he felt a bit embarrassed. She must have been feeling like a prisoner. "Ah, I see. I can understand why you would wish to venture out. I see no reason you should not go to London. I am sure she would love to go with you."

That drew a large smile. "Excellent. After breakfast I'll ride to her home and see if she wishes to accompany me."

So, Erik began to learn to draw such a smile from her. All he had to do was give her a bit of freedom. He could do that.

They allowed a pause to fall as they enjoyed more of their breakfast. This also allowed more time for Isabella to examine those newfound scars under closer scrutiny than earlier in the foyer. How did he get such scars? An accident? A birth defect? She could see a contrast in colors as well, as if some were older and some were newer, yet, no matter what direction he turned his head, she still couldn't see how far down they ran. If only she could get a bit…closer…

"You mentioned you were not in your room as usual this morning," Erik said, finishing the last of his croissant.

"What?" she almost jumped again, "Oh. Yes, you're correct." She nodded his way, "I had finished another letter to Mother and I wanted to get it to the courier as soon as possible, so I was going to find Mister Godard before he took you to London."

"I see. And did you find him?" Erik stiffened at the mention of Dùghall's name.

It was the second time she'd noticed it. And after what Dùghall had said about him not being allowed inside, she wondered what made Erik so resentful towards the young man.

"He found me, actually. When I was coming downstairs with Lillian, he was peeking inside the door."

His eyes cut up to hers and his voice lowered, "Did you invite him inside?"

"Pardon?"

His voice rose slightly, "Being one for politeness, did you invite him in the house?"

Isabella felt the sudden chill rise across the long table. "Umm…yes, I did."

A pause, then, "Did he…?"

"Did he what?"

"Did he come inside?" his voice turned even more insistent.

"No." Dear God, did her voice just tremble? "He said he was not allowed, so he stayed just outside the doorway. I wouldn't have invited him in if I'd known otherwise."

Erik let out a breath and took another sip of coffee. "Good."

Good? What in the hell did that just mean?

"Why is he not allowed inside?" she found herself asking before her brain could stop it.

His sudden deep stare burned right through her and she winced inside. She was amazed at how fast his expression could go from one of pleasantness to downright hostility. _Not smart, woman, not smart._

"That is my own business."

That, she didn't like, not one bit. Now she'd be forced to push the issue.

"Did he do something wrong?"

"No."

"Is he a good employee?"

"Yes."

"Efficient driver?"

"Yes."

"Keeps the stables kept, the horses fed and clean?"

"Yes."

"Then he himself must be of a filthy nature."

"He is not."

"Then he must be a thief."

"No."

"Liar?"

"No."

"A danger to the other staff?"

"No."

"Then why is he not allowed inside?"

"Because, it is my business!" he threw his knife on his plate, the sound almost deafening, then…

Silence.

She studied him, never cowering away from his short outburst, as Erik calmly wiped his mouth on the napkin in his lap, laid it down next to the plate, then stood.

"I am sorry." She began very cautiously. "As you had said before, what goes on between you and your staff is private."

He merely nodded and Isabella couldn't tell if that meant he'd just heard her or if he actually accepted the apology. She hadn't really meant the apology anyway. She simply wanted to ease the tension. She still had to know why Mister Godard wasn't allowed in the house and she knew she'd find a way to find out if she had to interrogate everyone on the staff.

"If you will excuse me," Erik walked past, only pausing long enough to give her a glance before walking to the door, "I have things to do before going to the office."

"Good day, Erik."

She waited for a reply, but all she heard instead was his footsteps on the wood floor as he left the room.

* * *

**A/N:** I apologize for how long it took to post this chapter as my beta hasn't been feeling well, so here it is finally. I'm working on Chapter Six now and I hope to have it finished within a day or two to post. Please keep the reviews coming, they're really appreciated! 


	6. Chapter 6 Enter The Lady In Red

Haven

Chapter Six:

"Well, it is about time…oww!" Rebecca Arrington huffed at her driver when the carriage pulled up to Haven Manor. The sudden stop almost threw her forward into the seat in front of her. "Now, get me out of this thing."

Her driver jumped out and had no sooner opened the door of the carriage than Jarrod came outside. He froze on the stoop.

_Oh no, not her_, _not today._ He groaned to himself. He had been checking out the window every so often and when he saw the carriage pull up, he was sure it had been Isabella. She was due anytime from her trip to London with Elizabeth to visit Madame Ducet's dress shop and since Rebecca's and Elizabeth's carriages were similar, he made the natural assumption. If he had known it was Rebecca Arrington, he wouldn't have come to the door.

Of course he would've been fired.

"Do not just stand there, Jarrod," Rebecca squawked at him, gathering up her oversized gown in one hand and trying to shoo past the butler with the other, "Let me inside."

Then again, Jarrod sighed as he blocked the front door, it might have been worth it.

"I am afraid Lord Erik is not here," He tried to act properly, but it was hard. He truly disliked her, but since his opinion didn't amount to much, he kept silent. "my Lady."

"Of course he is here." She snorted at him, "After all, he _summoned_ me."

"Yes, of course, my apologies, Lady Rebecca." He rolled his eyes as he reluctantly opened the door for her. She was summoned. That wasn't a good sign. Erik only summoned Rebecca Arrington when he was in his darker mood, to escape in the lust of flesh. And given his current status with Isabella, he definitely needed escape.

* * *

Erik sat alone in his library, pondering as his finger lazily traced a circle along the rim of the brandy snifter in his hand.

Isabella's inquiry was still plaguing his mind. Why _was_ he so resentful towards Dùghall? The young man was quite loyal, never late or sloppy with his chores, and very respectful. He was never any trouble and everyone on the staff adored him, including Louis, who was very hard to impress in his own right. Yes, Dùghall Godard was the kind of employee most men would kill to have.

He was perfect.

And that's what Erik hated.

He looked at the young man's chiseled face, his strong body, his…_perfect_…unmarred skin with pure, jealous hatred. No matter what work he did, breaking horses, hauling wood and hay, building, hammering…nothing blemished him. Sometimes he wondered what it would take to wear down that perfection. What it would take to wound him, to mar him, to damage him…

Groaning, he slowly stood and poured himself another glass of brandy before returning to his chair by the fireplace. Although he wanted to convince himself that his mood was solely the result of his resentment towards Dùghall, it wasn't.

It was no one's fault but his own that he had let himself become preoccupied with his new wife. A wife he found to be quite intriguing. A wife who, in such a short time had even won the heart of Thomas Sutton, who truly held no such intense adoration for anyone other than Elizabeth. A wife who insisted on helping Mary Ellen straighten up the sitting room and who chatted with Teresa while helping to chop vegetables in the kitchen. Who felt, as she called it, odd, having Lillian do everything for her that she was most capable of doing by herself.

A wife who he would never take to his bed out of love, only for duty to continue his bloodline.

That, he realized, he would have a more difficult time reconciling.

Six days.

Exactly six days since Isabella Rose Hawkins had entered his life and already he felt the final threads of his detachment begin to fray. He hated that they'd barely spoken in the twenty-four hours since his angry tirade forced him to walk away, leaving her to dine alone. He'd felt terribly ashamed of his behavior as he sat in his office that day, but still too prideful to go to her and apologize. Besides, an apology would undoubtedly heed more questions and more questions would heed even more anger.

His mind was stressed, his body cold, cold to the bone and neither the raging fire, nor all the brandy in the world was going to warm him up. His past was tainted, it distorted his judgment, yet he couldn't find a way to make it stop.

No, only one thing would take his mind off Isabella.

And she just walked in the door.

"Good afternoon, Erik." Rebecca almost purred as she walked into the library unannounced, the rustling of her thick skirt breaking the silence. She stood like a statuesque Goddess in her dark red gown, her ample breasts almost spilling out of her tight corset. He slowly stood, eyeing her with darkened eyes like pray he was about to consume.

"Afternoon, Rebecca."

She smirked, "You called for me?"

Jarrod came in behind her, flustered and apologetic. "I am sorry, my Lord, she just…"

He held up his hand to him but kept her eyes on the tall beauty, "Leave us."

"Yes, my Lord." He answered quickly and left the library.

As Jarrod turned from the door, he spotted Mary Ellen coming down the hallway towards him.

"Was that Lady Arrington I just heard come in?" she asked him. She knew she could call her Lady Rebecca as Jarrod does, but she just never could bring herself to do it.

In truth, no one at Haven liked Rebecca. She wasn't a true lady, at least not how a lady should be. She was extremely rude to the staff, holding her spoils above their heads, which to them was rather ironic as she was the daughter of a commoner herself, her title of Lady only bought in an effort to keep people from talking. Yet, she chose to forget that, without Erik's money, she would probably be a maid in someone's household as well. So, although Erik made his staff call her Lady, everyone knew who and what Rebecca Arrington really was.

A cheap mistress in fancy clothes.

"Shhh…" Jarrod hushed her, taking Mary Ellen arm. "Yes," his voice dropped to a whisper, "She came in just a couple of minutes ago. Apparently, she had been sent for."

The maid gasped, "Sent for? Oh, heavens no. Not with Lady Isabella returning anytime now from London."

Jarrod nodded and winced. "And I daresay, I could not predict her reaction if she finds her here."

"She will be as she always has been, Jarrod, kind and gracious. At least until she finds out what Lady Arrington's _true_ objective is."

"Yes, you are right."

"We must find a way to distract Lady Isabella when she returns; keep her from speaking to Lord Erik until he is no longer," she coughed, "occupied…"

"That is easy enough, dear lady, considering they have not spoken for more than a day now. Yet, Lord Erik knows she went into London to purchase clothing, he will want to know how much she spent for his ledgers, so he _will_ go to her when she returns."

"Then what do we do?"

"You keep an eye out for them and when they arrive, if she is still here, I will inform Lady Elizabeth. She dislikes Lady Rebecca as much as anyone; she will know what to do. In the meantime, I shall keep my eye on Lady Rebecca."

* * *

"I do admire your home." Isabella said to Elizabeth as the carriage drove past the gate of Waverly toward Haven. They both took the time to lean out the windows and wave at some of the ground workers that were repairing a small broken section of the large gate. Although she'd been there a couple of times now, walking the vast grounds, riding the horses and feeding the fish in their large pond, she still looked at it with awe. It almost seemed surreal to her, like the magical lands she read about in her fairy tale books as a child.

"Why, thank you. It has been in the Sutton family for many generations. I believe it was built around the mid to late 1600's."

"Yes, I recall Thomas telling me the whole story about it the first time I was out there. He does love to talk about it."

Elizabeth laughed, "Yes, that he does." They both returned to their seats. "So, tell me, did I not tell you that London was going to be exciting?"

"I had the best time, truly." She answered, looking around the carriage. There were so many garment bags and hat boxes between the two of them that they could scarcely fit inside. In fact, the riders that accompanied them had to sit with the driver to make room. "I had never seen so many shops in one area in my life. And that café we dined at, simply amazing. I hope we can go back there soon."

"Absolutely, whenever you wish. Besides, you have not purchased near enough garments yet."

"I bought five gowns!" Isabella laughed.

"Oh, not near enough, my friend. A Lady is never expected to wear the same gown twice at any public function, even if it is hosted at her own home."

Isabella gasped, "So this gown I purchased for the dinner party, I can't wear it again, ever?"

"Of course you can, just in private."

"Umph…" Shaking her head, Isabella couldn't fathom wearing such a fancy gown just around the house. After all, it would get rather messy cutting vegetables in the kitchen or brushing the horses in the stable.

Elizabeth looked at her, noting and envying the look of almost childlike innocence as she lovingly picked up one of her three new music boxes and admired it. It was white this time and was hand painted with the picture of a ballerina. The music inside played Swan Lake, another one she knew was one of her favorite pieces. That one, Isabella had told her, would go on the table by her bed. The other two, both similar in light wood grain, but with different flowers would be sent to her mother. She said she would let her mother choose which one to keep and send the other one on to Jackson's wife as a gift for their new baby.

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the house and both ladies were more than anxious to step out and stretch their legs from the long ride home.

"Here you are, my Lady." George, Elizabeth's drive said to Isabella as he held the door open for them.

"Thank you, George." She answered him.

He helped them both down and as they exited, they could hear the front door open and from there, spotted Jarrod running quickly out of the house and straight towards them.

* * *

"Oh no, she is home!" Lillian ran up behind Mary Ellen as she was looking out the window. They could see Jarrod's face as he opened the door to greet them, still unsure as to what to do.

"Yes, and I still know of no way to keep her occupied until Lady Arrington has left. We need a distraction and fast."

"I think I know of something!" Lillian exclaimed, her blue eyes widening.

"What?" Mary Ellen asked her. She knew that look and was always weary of it.

"There is no time to explain, I just need to get to the kitchen!"

"Do not do anything rash, young lady."

"No, nothing rash I assure you, just something to keep Lady Isabella busy, I promise!" she took off in the direction of the long hallway that not only led to the door of the library, but it also led to the side entrance of the kitchen.

"Wait, Lillian!" she called, but it was too late. She returned her gaze to the window, muttering, "Oh lord, child, I hope you know what you are doing…"

"Jarrod, whose carriage is that?" Isabella asked as she walked to the steps, while keeping an eye on the riders as they unloaded her packages so she could tell them where to take them.

"I shall take the packages inside for Lady Isabella." Jarrod told the two young men, then turned to Isabella. "Um…Lord Erik has a guest, my Lady." Was all he could think of to say.

But Elizabeth scowled. She could hear the awkwardness in Jarrod's voice and when Isabella nodded and walked over to speak to George and pet the horses, she went to him.

"Who is here, really?" she asked, staring the butler down.

He coughed then whispered, "Lady Rebecca, my Lady."

She inhaled sharply, covering her mouth with her hand, "What is he doing having that _woman_ here during the day like this? Knowing Isabella would be returning?"

Jarrod could only shake his head.

"How long has she been here?"

"Over a half hour now, my Lady. We have all been waiting for your arrival, trying to find a way to distract Lady Isabella, to give Lord Erik time to get her out of here. I had toyed with the idea of having Mister Godard call her to the stables, but given the feelings Lord Erik has about her socializing with him, I thought it best not to try it."

Elizabeth waved her hand, "Oh, that would have been unwise. Ummm…let me see…ah yes, I shall simply say I have a bad headache and ask for Isabella to accompany me home. Thomas is working late this evening and I had already asked Isabella to join me after dinner, so instead, I can lie down with her by my side and keep her with me for dinner. It should be safe enough for her to return by then."

The relief on Jarrod's face was palatable. "A most intelligent idea, my Lady. I shall take her packages inside her room, Lillian will unpack them and you can…"

"Lady Isabella!"

Both Jarrod and Elizabeth turned to see Lillian running out the front door in what appeared to be quite a tizzy.

"Mum!"

"Lillian! What's wrong?" Isabella asked, walking up and gripping the girl by the shoulders to steady her.

"It is Teresa, she has cut herself, it is bad, Mum….bleeding something awful and I know you know how to treat bad stuff like this, thank goodness you got home just in time or perhaps we would have had to send for the doctor and…." Her voice raced so fast she was hardly understood.

"What? She did what?" Isabella asked.

"Calm down, Lillian." Elizabeth walked up to them. "You say Teresa cut herself?"

"Yes, my Lady, it is bad." Lillian seemed almost in tears.

"Where is she?" Isabella asked, finally understanding the nature of the situation.

"In the kitchen, Mum, she was cutting up vegetables and the knife slipped….should I go for the doctor?"

"Oh! No, I can tend to her, Lillian, go get the kit I prepared for the workers and meet me there."

"Yes, Mum!" she exclaimed.

Isabella then turned to Elizabeth, "Thank you for the wonderful day, I shall ride out to your home after dinner as we had planned, I'm sorry, but I must go see about Teresa."

"Yes, I had a great time too, but…wait, Isabella…" she tried to stop her, nevertheless it was too late, Isabella had already grabbed her skirts and run into the house.

Both Jarrod and Elizabeth slowly turned their heads to look at Lillian, who now had a big smile on her face.

"What did you do, girl?" Jarrod asked her.

"Mary Ellen said Lady Isabella needed to be distracted, so I distracted her." She replied smugly.

"By sending her _into_ the house?" Elizabeth could have almost fainted.

"But I was sending her into the _kitchen_, my Lady, that would keep her near the library at the other end of the house, far away from Lord Erik and Lady Rebecca."

Jarrod threw up his hands, "Lillian, Lord Erik is _in_ his library!"

Lillian grew pale and covered her face. "Oh no!"

"How could you do something so ignorant? I should stripe you for this!" Jarrod admonished her. Although he was far in his rights as head of the staff to do so, until that moment, he had never even entertained the idea.

But the young maid was now shedding genuine tears, "I did not know, the other night when one of his….well, they went upstairs and…."

Elizabeth grabbed her by the sleeve of her uniform, "Another one? Here?"

"Yes, but it was late at night, the first night Lady Isabella was here, she was asleep and I do not believe she ever knew of it."

"Of course, she did not! Never mind. We must go find Isabella and get her to my home, now!" She ordered. She didn't have time to think about the other secret meetings, not if she wanted to keep this one a secret as well.

Together, the three of them frantically ran into the house towards the kitchen, hoping they would make it in time.

* * *

"Umm….I love spending time with you like this…" Rebecca moaned as she lay naked across the chaise lounge in the library. The sunlight that streamed in warmed her body even more, causing her to stretch, satisfied like a Cheshire cat. "Although I do say it has been considerably short this time."

In truth, the other times she'd enjoyed his company, he'd been able to satisfy her at least a couple of hours. This was definitely new to her. "But no matter, it was worth it. You were quite…intense." She said with a giggle, waiting for his reply.

Erik stood by the window, pensively looking out onto the gardens, studying the petals of a flower that were blowing across the cobblestone sidewalk in the cooler afternoon breeze. He just barely had time to re-dress from his tryst, minus his shirt of course, which he never removed for anyone, just preferring to keep unbuttoned. He observed the time. Forty-five minutes. It had indeed been short.

But not short enough.

"Erik, darling…" she cooed at him.

"Yes, Rebecca."

"Come lay back down next to me, we have enough time and I would love for you to be satisfy me once more." She patted the empty space on the lounger next to her.

"I prefer not. It is late, you need to be leaving." He answered her, his gaze never leaving the garden.

"Leaving? So soon?" She hated to admit it, but part of her missed Erik. In the beginning of their mutual _friendship_, she would be called to his home at least twice a week. Now she was lucky if it was twice a month. She heard the talk, she knew he had other women he spent time with and that bothered her terribly. She grew used to the lifestyle he provided her and wasn't about to give it up for anyone.

"Yes, I am expecting someone." His voice was growing more and more distant, preoccupied.

Finally, Rebecca stood from the chaise and cautiously walked up behind him. She stroked his shoulder, "Who are you expecting?"

At the feel of her touch, Erik finally turned around and saw her standing before him, her naked body still glistening from the effort of their lovemaking. Although one could scarcely call it love. He was satisfying a pure sexual lust, nothing more.

Her body, though, had always excited him. Her green eyed were shaped like a cat's and her lips were full, red and deeply seductive, a stark contrast to her ivory complexion. Her dark black hair hung low, covering her firm, round breasts that earlier had been almost screaming to be released. Her hips, no longer camouflaged by a full skirt, were not as wide and curvy as he liked and she kept herself a bit thin for his taste, but she made up for that shortcoming with enough sexual passion to drive a whole army to revolt in her name. She had always been the ideal mistress. Except now, nothing about her held any appeal. She had merely become a means to an end.

"Erik, I asked who? Who are you meeting?" she whined in a futile attempt to get him out of his haze.

And her childish attitude wasn't helping the situation.

"I have never told you my business, Rebecca, and I do not intend to start now." He turned away from her, waving for her to pick up her clothes. "Get dressed." He told her coldly before walking over to his desk. Inside it, he pulled out a large bag and removed several coins. He returned to Rebecca and threw the coins onto the chaise.

She looked down at them and smirked. Well, at least she always had the money.

"Well, short but sweet, I always say." Her demeanor returned to normal. She gazed upon his olive complected skin, admiring the small smattering of hair on his chest, mingling with the few barely visible scars that lingered nearby, with a strange, new curiosity. In the four years she'd been coming to see Erik, she'd never asked about them, never asked why he insisted on keeping himself covered by his shirt and that accursed mask. Honestly, being someone who prided herself on flawlessness, she had never wanted to see just how bad they might be, afraid she would no longer find him appealing. Now, if she was going to be unceremoniously dismissed, she would certainly steel herself for what lied inside that shirt. If all she had left was a few minutes, she was going to make it worth her while. If she could just get him back on the chaise…

* * *

"My Lady!" Jarrod called out as he ran down the hallway, but he knew the time he'd spent outside with Lillian and Elizabeth had already delayed the time it would take to catch up to her. He stopped and looked to his left, down the rest of the narrow, dimly lit corridor that led to the kitchen but couldn't see her.

"Is she here?" Elizabeth asked as she stopped just behind him.

"She must have gone into the kitchen already, my Lady." He answered her.

"Go after her, it will not take her long to figure out Teresa is not hurt and she will return."

"Yes, of course, my Lady…." Jarrod started to turn down the hall, but glanced toward the library, just in time to see it was fly open.

He gasped, stopping cold.

Elizabeth ducked behind a large planter, determined not to be seen by either of them. If she did, she knew she would give Erik a piece of her mind.

But it was not Erik and Rebecca who came out of the library.

It was Isabella.

Jarrod saw her backing sideways out of the room, apologizing softly but profusely, her face pale, eyes wide.

He ran up to her just in time to hear Rebecca yell out, "Erik, who is that?"

It was that sound that made Elizabeth come out from her hiding place. Quick as a flash, she was by Isabella's side, looking inside the library to see for herself what was happening.

The sight before her eyes definitely caught her by surprise.

_Erik, frozen in shock, sitting on the chaise._

_Rebecca in just her petticoat, pulled up to her waist, straddling Erik's lap, her top half exposed except for a bit of hair that covered it._

"Oh God…" Elizabeth said very softly, turning away.

"I am so sorry…so sorry…I didn't mean to interrupt…" was all Isabella kept saying.

"Erik, I said _who is this_?" Rebecca pointed as she leapt to her feet, then began inching her way towards the door. "Is this another one of those women you have been seeing?"

Erik finally came to his senses and jumped up, grabbing Rebecca's arm, "Move away from the door and get your clothes on."

"I want to know who she is!" she shook off Erik's grasp.

"Stay out of it."

"No, I said tell me!"

"She's my wife!"

Everyone froze this time, holding their breath.

Except Rebecca. She began to laugh. Not a laugh of amusement, but one of disbelief. It was a hideous sound.

"You are covering for yourself. Admit it, this is the person you said you were waiting for. This is brilliant! I am being tossed aside for a milk faced…mealy mouthed little girl who seems shocked by seeing anyone in a state of undress? And trying to pawn her off as your wife! I cannot believe you could not wait to get _me_ out of here so you could take _her_ to your bed!"

Isabella gasped, clutching her chest.

"Rebecca, shut your mouth!" Elizabeth shouted at her.

Erik felt Isabella's sheer revulsion and in response, his anger rose sharply. It was coming close to the level of danger he always feared. His fists clinched, but chose to remain silent, knowing if he spoke, it would provoke more of Rebecca's tirade, then God help him what he would do next.

"Let us go, my Lady." Jarrod took Isabella by her shoulders and turned her away.

"Take her to my carriage." Elizabeth instructed, then turned to look back inside the library at Rebecca and said, "Then escort this…_woman_…to her carriage once she bothers to cover herself."

Rebecca sneered, "You cannot tell me what to do, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth's lips tightened as she waited until Isabella had been taken away. She then walked the rest of the way into the library. She approached Rebecca and without a moment's forethought, struck the woman hard across the face. "Watch your place." She hissed at her, "Despite your monetarily acquired place in society, I know what you really are and if you want to keep that place, you had best do as _I_ say. Now, shut up, get dressed, and leave."

Rebecca clutched at her stinging cheek, flabbergasted. "Erik, are you going to let her get away with this…?"

A long pause fell as Erik and Elizabeth exchanged glances. He could see she almost dared him to try and admonish her for her action. What a fool he'd been! He was so sure he could have gotten her out before Isabella returned. What was he thinking? Instead of bothering to try and utter any form of apology, all he did was nod, admitting silently his mistake.

And as Elizabeth left the library and closed the door, he turned to Rebecca and said, "Do as she said. Now."

* * *

A/N: Thanks again for the great reviews! I'm a couple of chapters ahead now, so I have an idea where its going. Don't panic Erik lovers, he'll start loosening up, promise! And we'll start unraveling his secrets too. Til next time! 


	7. Chapter 7 Speak To Me

Haven

Chapter Seven:

"I just don't know what to think." Isabella muttered while sitting in Elizabeth's garden after everything about Lillian's botched plan was finally explained to her. She held no animosity towards the naïve young woman; she knew she was only trying to shield her form the very thing that happened. If anyone, she blamed Erik.

"He just stood there, he didn't even explain, apologize or attempt to defend me."

"Please do not try and judge him too harshly, in his defense, he was as shocked as anyone…" Elizabeth tried to speak softly, calmly while encouraging her to sip more of her tea.

"Shocked? No one was more shocked than I was! Why did not even bother to lock the library door? None of this would have happened otherwise!" Isabella threw her hands in the air, the tea cup almost flying off the saucer.

"I am sorry, a bad choice of words, but I do know he was as upset by this as you were."

"Well, I certainly didn't see it."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to continue her explanation, but stopped. Erik's look of anger, his darkened eyes, his clenched fists didn't go unnoticed. But to try and explain that to Isabella in her current state of mind would prove to be futile. Instead, she chose to move on.

"How did you end up in the library anyway? You said you were going to the kitchen."

"When I had gone into the kitchen, I found Teresa holding her finger with what I thought was a bloody cloth, but when I examined the wound, it had appeared to have been but just a scratch." She began, "Yet, I didn't wish for it to turn septic, so as I was waiting for Lillian, I realized I had put the kit in the library and I knew Lillian wouldn't look for it there. And so I went to retrieve it, opened the door and…I know I should've knocked, but I only expected that if Erik _was_ there, he would be there alone at his desk, like he was when I left for London. And for just a moment, I thought perhaps my abruptness might…you know…"

"Force him to speak to you."

Isabella rolled her eyes, "Yes, stupid thing that it was, but the tension around the house had started to get to me."

"But instead of seeing Erik, you saw the two of them…?"

"Actually no. When I walked inside and saw he wasn't at his desk, I proceeded over to the cabinet where I had put the kit, but then I heard…giggling…and moaning….and…"

"_That_ is when you saw."

"Yes, that woman, her breasts not even covered and Erik was there, his shirt was unbuttoned and wide open." Once again her voice began to rise, "He was sitting on the chaise, she was sitting on _him_….it was apparent what was happening. I was married once, you know that. I'm very well aware of what goes on between a man and a woman."

"Of course. You are not ignorant by any means."

"Who is she then, Elizabeth? It was very clear that you knew her."

Elizabeth sighed, readying herself for the hard questions she'd been expecting since they arrived, "Unfortunately, yes. Although she does not frequent our circles socially, I had seen her in the past, visiting Haven. Her name is Rebecca Arrington. She is a…"

"She is a whore. I saw that for myself." Isabella spat out in a plain and simple tone.

Well, that didn't take much explanation.

"I suppose in some circles she could be considered…"

"Circle or no circle. I saw the coins next to her on the chaise. He paid her to come there and have sex with him. I don't know what you call it here, but in America, they're called whores."

"Here, they are called mistresses and it is not all that uncommon for men to have one, but I suppose that is simply a nicer way of saying a well paid whore."

"And by the look of her, I agree he does pay her well." Isabella snorted contemptibly.

"I had asked Thomas on more than one occasion if Erik and Rebecca had that kind of arrangement. He never would answer me. I knew deep inside they were, but I never had confirmation until now."

"So then you don't know about the other one, I assume."

Elizabeth almost yelped before she could stop herself, "You know of the other one? Lillian only told me about her just today!"

"Yes, I know of her." she sighed, "My first night here. I never sleep well in a new bed, so I chose to walk to the kitchen to fix myself some tea. I didn't want to wake Lillian, you see. So as I came back up to my room, I heard a female voice. I ducked inside my door only to see Erik walking a young woman down the staircase to the front door. Again he was in a slight state of undress."

"And she was not Rebecca."

"Definitely not. This one had…umm…I would say auburn hair and I think she was a bit shorter, as well." Then Isabella smirked, "I know she was considerably _younger_ than Miss Arrington."

That made Elizabeth burst out into laughter. "Oh my, if she heard you say that, she would faint, I daresay!" She was truly relieved that Isabella didn't suffer harshly from her traumatic experience. The ability to laugh at such a situation further affirmed just what a strong spirited lady she was.

But inside, Isabella was still disturbed. True, she could understand the notion that a bachelor, especially one with considerable wealth, would have those kind of women available to him, even for that first night of her arrival. But Erik was now, by all intents and purposes, no longer a bachelor. If he had needed sexual fulfillment, why not come to her? She never said directly, but she had been expecting it since their wedding, even as nonchalant as it was.

After all, didn't he think that perhaps she might need sexual fulfillment as well? She saw his shirt open, saw his well toned chest, firm abdomen. She saw his tossled hair, flushed cheeks, his skin just slightly damp from sweat. It stirred something inside her. She always knew that she missed being a wife, sharing a bed with a husband and she didn't realize, to her dismay, just how much until she'd seen Erik in such an embrace. If she was a jealous type of wife, she could nullify the agreement by saying he committed adultery and just go home. Because wasn't that what she was feeling? Jealousy? She saw how breathtakingly beautiful Rebecca was. Saw her body, her long dark hair, her emerald green eyes that sparkled when she released her vigor at Erik. The more she thought of it, the more let down she became over the whole situation and it had nothing to do with catching an indiscretion.

She suddenly envied Rebecca Arrington, certainly hated how she looked in Erik's arms with his hands around her, his lips against her neck. She wondered if that was the kind of woman Erik preferred.

The total opposite of her.

"Are you alright?" Elizabeth touched her hand, "You drifted in thought for a moment."

"Yes, I'm fine."

"I know this whole situation has upset you."

"It's not just that, Elizabeth," her voice paused for just a moment, "when I saw them together, I felt…I mean, I know our marriage is an arrangement, but he is my husband and I…" she thought hard but couldn't put her previous thoughts into words. She was hoping maybe her friend would sense it and understand.

Thankfully, she did.

"Isabella, are you saying that your upset is more than catching them together the way you did? Are you saying you are feeling selfish, perhaps jealous? " Her face lightened as a grin formed across her lips, slowly.

She coughed, fiddling with the ribbon on her gown. "I wouldn't call it _selfish_, per say, certainly not jealousy."

_Liar!_ Her mind screamed. _You just admitted it to yourself!_

In response, she groaned and Elizabeth got her answer but thought it wise not to press the subject any further.

"Well, even if you say you are fine, stay for dinner with me anyway? As I said, Thomas…"

"Thomas what, my beauty?" Thomas' boisterous voice came from the back door.

Both Elizabeth and Isabella's mouths dropped and they spun around to see him approach. Isabella noted his pleasant smile and soft, jovial laughter.

"You are home early!" Elizabeth rose and threw her arms around him. He gratefully returned the gesture.

"Yes, the meeting went much smoother than I had anticipated, so I decided to come home and see what my lovely wife was doing. Instead I find her in the company of another lovely woman."

He then walked up to Isabella and went to one knee. He took her hand and kissed it. He saw the lingering effects of weariness in her eyes. "Always a pleasure to find you here, Isabella."

"Good to see you again, Thomas."

"And I should tell you that I did not return here empty handed." He smiled at her.

"Oh?"

"No, I found this as I pulled into the gate," and with a grand gesture, he swept his hand around and Isabella's eyes followed it.

Only to see Erik step inside the garden.

Her eyes instinctively locked with his, but the intensity of his gaze, the emotions that came from them, caused her to straighten her back and look away but not before she saw he was now properly dressed in his full suit, including jacket and cravat. It didn't help matters much; all she could see was him sitting on the chaise with _that woman_ on his lap.

"Thomas, you do not understand darling, you see…" Elizabeth tried to begin when she saw Erik, but Thomas stood quickly and put a finger over his wife's lips.

"He explained everything and believe me, he received an earful for a good ten minutes in my carriage," He assured her, "but for now, it is up to them to mend the fences. Come, let us leave them alone. I have already told Erik that if Isabella wishes, she is welcome to stay with us until she feels comfortable to return."

With a smile, Elizabeth looked at her friend, "Do you wish to speak to him?"

Still looking down and again playing with the ribbon of her gown, she merely nodded, then heard a deep intake of breath. Was that Erik? Was he that anxious to speak to her? Certainly not. For that kind of emotional reaction, one would have to have , well, emotion.

"Then I will assure you will not be disturbed." Thomas told Erik as he took his wife by the hand and led her out of the garden.

A heartbeat passed, then two, then three…

"May I sit down?" Erik's voice was soft toned and a bit somnolent as how to approach her.

"If you wish." She answered flatly.

Instead, Erik decided to walk around. It helped him to think. And to absorb what he'd just heard while waiting inside. She'd all but admitted out loud she felt jealous seeing him with Rebecca. In one short moment, it sent many emotions coursing through him, so many he knew it would take time to sort them out. But for now, he simply needed to make sure she was alright. As much as it disturbed him, interrupted his dull, loveless existence, he was growing to care for her.

"First of all, I wish to apologize. My discretion… or lack thereof, was unforgivable."

"Noted."

He coughed, "I am sure you have some questions. I would be glad to answer them."

"Elizabeth already explained it."

"About what?"

"About Rebecca. About who and what she is."

_Leave it to Elizabeth_. He inhaled, "I see."

Finally, Isabella summoned the courage to look up at him again. This time she fought the urge to let his piercing eyes distract her from asking the only question she needed to ask.

"I do need to know something."

"Ask me anything."

"Will this continue?"

He studied her for a moment, not sure what she meant.

"This…with Miss Arrington. Will it continue?" She reiterated with a tone that signaled her insistence that it would not. Erik appreciated it, but found it unnecessary, he'd already made his decision.

He approached, then went to one knee before her as Thomas had.

"No." he answered firmly, making sure she understood, "Her behavior was unacceptable, she has been sent away for good. I should have spoken up in your defense earlier, but I could not. You see, my…"

"You don't have to explain, Erik." She interrupted him. _What? Of course he has to explain, what's wrong with you?_

"No, Isabella, I feel I do. You see, my lack of speech was not due to any form of embarrassment or dismay. I can tend to let my temper get the best of me. I was quite angry and only by silence can I control it."

"Angry. At me?"

"No," he answered quickly, "at myself for my mistake, but also at Rebecca. She spat accusations, insinuations, she insulted you. Believe me, I had wished to speak up, but if I _had_ spoken, I would have shown a side of myself that is, well, not so controlled."

Ah, now she was getting to the heart of it.

"And you don't like losing control, do you Erik?"

He sucked in a deep breath and replied, "No, I do not." Then fell silent. That was much more difficult to admit than he'd first realized.

After all, how was he to explain to her that she was the reason Rebecca was needed in the first place?

She nodded at him, "Like when I asked you about Mister Godard, right?"

Immediately, Erik's back stiffened once again. "What?" he uttered and Isabella realized she'd blindsided him.

"I'm sorry, but it has been bothering me ever since you walked out before. I know you became angry with me for asking, even though it was a question that required only a simple explanation."

"I do not wish to discuss him, only to say that I regret raising my voice to you and leaving you as I did. I am just not accustomed to being asked questions in such a forward manner about my personal business."

That hit a brick wall, again.

"I can't apologize for my manner, Erik. As you said you were blunt at our first meeting, I'm forward and…I'm rather nosy." She let herself smirk in a way that let Erik know wordlessly that it was more lighthearted than serious. But deep down, she was very serious.

He finally let out a nervous laugh. "I suppose we shall both have to learn to live with each other as well as get past our own shortcomings."

That was definitely the truth.

"So if I might ask something now, how did you come to enter my library as you did, without knocking? You appeared to be in quite the hurry."

"Oh! I suppose it is my turn to apologize for bursting in the way I did, but yes I was in a hurry," she smiled at him, "Lillian told me when I arrived that Teresa had cut herself and was bleeding quite badly. So I went to get the kit and…."

"Teresa hurt herself?" his voice turned peculiar sounding to her, as if he was hanging on her next reply. She was sure that was the first time she'd heard him express concern for one of his staff. That was new.

"No, don't worry, I never saw anything serious."

Erik nodded, the relief clearly visible.

"In fact, Elizabeth told me that as she was leaving the house to bring me here, Teresa came from the kitchen and told her there was never an injury at all. The scratch I'd seen was from something she had done earlier in the day. See, she told her that Lillian had run into the kitchen, grabbed one of her rags and squeezed tomato juice on it. Then she told her to hold it to her finger and pretend she had a cut. There was no explanation. She didn't understand why, but she chose to play along. Lillian explained to Elizabeth that she was hoping to get me into the kitchen, thus avoiding an encounter with Miss Arrington. I'm afraid, of course, that it failed as Lillian didn't realize the kit, nor you and Rebecca, were in the library."

"Yes, I say it failed miserably. I am taken aback by her doing something so impulsive. I will speak to her about this whole foolish situation."

"No, please do not. She only wished to protect me. Elizabeth said she was in tears over it, completely inconsolable."

He looked in her eyes and saw a compassion that he himself once had, a compassion he wished would return to his own eyes for all time, not just in momentary flashes.

"Very well. For you, I shall let the matter go."

Her smile broadened, "Thank you. I would just rather everything be put to rest."

"Done." He said firmly, then emitted a slight chuckle, "Tomato juice?"

She couldn't help but to smile at the picture in her mind of Lillian smashing a tomato into a rag. Bless her, she was indeed amusing. "Yes, apparently it was the closest red thing at hand. Teresa was cutting them up to put into the meal tonight. She said it went everywhere, including all over Lillian's uniform."

The thought of that made Erik laugh loudly, just like he had at breakfast the day before. She laughed along with him and that gesture alone helped to ease the tension significantly.

"Well, on to less stressful issues," he finally said, leaving his crouched position and sitting down next to her on the bench, "did you enjoy London?"

"Yes, in fact I did. It is much larger than I had imagined it to be. So many buildings, cafés and theatres, it will take months of visits to partake of it all. She even showed me the bank where your office is located."

"Is that so?" he smirked. "Did you find it impressive?"

_Arrogant man_! She liked that.

"Umm…the whole building itself was much smaller than you had led me to believe. Shame…boasting the way you did…." She joked. In truth, the bank was so large, all she could see of Erik's office was a tiny window on the fourth floor. She stood in the street gawking at it, feeling as small as a pebble on the shore. But she'd never let Erik know that."

"Well," he played along, "Indeed, I am ashamed of my boastful attitude. Forgive me, dear Lady, for I only do my best. In the future, I shall try to work harder. Did you see all the shops Elizabeth wanted you to visit?"

"Yes, we did. Although I'm sure we didn't touch a fourth of the shopping district. But we'll go back just for that I'm sure."

"I assume you find an acceptable gown for tomorrow night, then?"

"_I think this is a most lovely gown." Madame Ducet proudly displayed what Isabella thought was the gaudiest item of clothing she'd ever seen. It was dark red with purple dyed ribbons and a huge bow in the back that stuck out so far it reminded her of a peacock's tail._

"_Umm, I don't know." She grimaced as she glanced at Elizabeth, hoping she shared her assessment. She truly wanted to blanche, but being new to English society, she didn't wish to make that kind of first impression._

"_No, Madame Ducet." She heard Elizabeth tell the French seamstress. "I think Lady Renault would prefer something more … understated, more delicate for her first dinner party."_

_Madame Ducet scoffed, but acceeded to her wishes. Isabella felt certain that Elizabeth carried enough weight in London that no one would dare balk at her instructions. "Shame. It is the latest in Paris fashion."_

"_This is why I do not go to Paris." She heard Elizabeth whisper under her breath and despite herself, she started to laugh…_

Now thinking back, she felt certain it was close to the color and style of the gown she saw pooled on the floor of Erik's library. Figures. That image, she would have trouble shaking.

"I did." She told Erik, "I'm sure Lillian has put it away by now, but if you wish, when we go home, I'll be glad to show it to you."

"No, it is alright, I would prefer to see it for the first time on you tomorrow night. Elizabeth has wonderful taste, I am sure it is quite lovely."

"I thought it was."

Erik stopped and thought a second. Did she just say _when they got home_? He couldn't explain it, nor was he sure which he liked more, knowing she was returning with him or her casual use of the word _home_.

"Erik?" she touched his hand.

Her touch was like fire, a wonderful sensation that caused him to momentarily shudder, but instead of indulging in it, he pulled his hand away. He could see her disappointed expression and once again, felt like a eel. After all, it was nothing but a simple gesture, he told himself, but to try and explain why that was so dangerous was futile.

"Oh, I apologize," he finally managed to say, "did you say you were coming home?"

"Yes, I did." A twinkle returned to her eyes regardless of having him shrink from her touch.

"Home." He repeated, wanting to hear her say it again.

"Yes, home. Why?"

"Nothing. I am just delighted to hear you call it home. It has been a rather distressing week for you here. I know you must still be homesick," She nodded emphatically at that. "but you have been most gracious in putting up with me. We did not start out on the right foot, but I hope that we can at least begin to get to know one another a little more."

"I would love that, very much. I don't wish to fight. If we're to live as man and wife we should at least become friends."

"Good, I would like that." He offered his arm to her and she took it, "Shall we go home?"

* * *

A/N: Sorry that this is a shorter chapter than previous, but I think the next chapters will be longer. Thanks for reviewing and things will start picking up for Erik and Isabella very soon. :)

A/N #2: giggles Okay, wow...such strong reviews bashing poor Isabella for her "forgiving" Erik. Just wait it out, please. Give the poor girl a break. She's been in a new country, married to a stranger for a week. Yes, she has a ton of spunk, but she's not stupid. So please, be patient...and thanks!


	8. Chapter 8 Answers and More Questions

Haven

Chapter Eight:

From the journal of Erik Renault:

_28 August 1889_

_It appears my new wife has taken to eating with the staff._

_She has been doing this for the previous three dinners that I did not share with her, yet I have just learned of it from Jarrod earlier today. He said his delay in telling me this was for fear of staff reprimand. Reprimand is the farthest from my mind. I am more interested in learning why she has chosen to do so and why she never told me herself. Jarrod was evasive to my inquiry into whether or not Dùghall was present at these dinners, so I take it that he has been. I know that, typically, the field workers eat their dinner together in the field house, but I also know that Dùghall has, in the past, snuck into the kitchen to eat with the house staff. This upsets me, yet at this time, I know I have no right to be. Isabella has honored my wish for her to stay clear of the stables for any reason other than riding and she has not let Dùghall into the house, so should I let myself become angry over this one small matter? To her, I am sure I still appear mysterious and distant, but inside, my feelings toward her are becoming more difficult to fight. And with those feelings comes the inevitable evil emotions that I fear will destroy me. _

_If this means I should return home in time to have dinner with her, so she should not have to seek companionship elsewhere, I will do so. I should have realized that, always dining with her parents, she would wish to have conversation at such a time. It shall be remedied as soon as possible._

_Most intriguing, my wife is. On our way home in the carriage from Thomas' last night, she asked me, in that most upfront tone I have come to admire, how many mistresses I had. I knew it was a question she was destined to ask after our earlier, rather placid conversation, so I chose to be honest and replied that, at one time, I had as many as four, but as of late, it had been narrowed down to two. Now, after Rebecca, there was only one. She remained quiet for a moment. I looked over at her and realized by the expression on her face that this issue between us had not yet been completely resolved. I told her this and said she was free to speak her mind. With this knowledge, she appeared to open up and asked if it would offend me if she were to forbid me from seeing the other mistress now that we were married, even if it was just for convenience only. I honestly did not know how to answer her at first. There was a certain… possessive tone to her voice I was sure I would never hear. I finally said that, although society dictates otherwise, I would not be offended and she was more than entitled to demand attention only to herself. She seemed pleased, albeit a bit puzzled by my response. Did she not understand that deep down, that was what I wished? To show, by her insistence, that she did indeed care? To show more of that jealousy that I heard her admit to Elizabeth? I asked if her first husband had been taking mistresses and she firmly said no, that it was not a common thing for men to do, then quickly added that they were very young when they married and he had been devoted to her. This intrigued me and, I found suddenly, I had this urge to know more. What was about that young man that made her fall in love so deeply, so much so that his death could still make her sad after all these years? But it was because of that sadness I saw forming in her eyes that I chose not to ask more at that time. Then it happened. After a short pause to step out of the carriage, no sooner had we walked inside than she turned to face me. With a most serious tone, she told me that if I chose to end my association with my mistress, that she would not deny me if I called her to my bed. She would not deny me! It was something I had not even contemplated. I knew I would eventually have to ask for heirs, but quite honestly, I had intended to wait a good year before ever bringing up the subject. My only answer to such a bargain as this was to say to her that the next woman I would be with was her and her alone. I honestly believe she did not expect me to answer in such a manner. But then again, I did not expect the offer and, therefore, surprised myself as well. _

_We sat in peaceful silence the rest of the evening. Me, working at my desk, she, sitting on the settee by the window, reading by candlelight. But I could swear, at one point, that I felt her gaze my way, feel as if she was almost studying me, just as she did that first day. But it was dark and perhaps I was much too hopeful. Nevertheless, I did not turn to avoid it this time. _

"Are you almost done?" Isabella asked as she stood in front of the long mirror in her room. Her voice squeaked slightly as she held in her breath, bracing herself.

Mary Ellen was saddled with the job of lacing up Isabella's corset, while Lillian saw to last minute details in the ballroom downstairs for the dinner party. Isabella was sure they'd flipped a coin for the duty, as Lillian admitted she was not very good at lacing those larger, tighter fitting corsets required for such ballgowns. Mary Ellen, on the other hand, was a much sturdier woman and, as Isabella felt her eyes bulging, was doing a much better job.

"Yes, my Lady, just a moment longer." She answered her as she tightened the corset even more.

"Why does a woman have to endure this just to impress people?" Isabella groaned. "One more inch and my breasts are going to hit me in the chin."

"That is what makes it more appealing, my Lady." Mary Ellen assured her with a laugh. My, but Lady Isabella's talk could be quite colorful, she said to herself. "You shall be just fine, just hold still."

"Oh!" she cried as the first set of laces was fastened. That drew another hearty laugh.

"Do you not have corsets in America, my Lady?"

"I'm sure the fancier gowns do, but I hardly wore one on a regular basis, not…" she groaned, "…until I came here…"

"Ah, I see. Then this is a rather uncomfortable experience, is it not?"

"Uncomfortable is not what I would call it, Mary Ellen. Torturous, medieval, Yes."

Again, the older maid laughed and decided to let the corset out a little. She certainly didn't want Isabella fainting at her own dinner party.

Finally, Isabella could finally let out a little breath, "Ah, thank you. By the way, I heard a small commotion outside earlier as I was bathing. Naturally, I couldn't go to the window to see what was happening. Is everything alright?"

"Ah yes, all is fine, my Lady. It was just that Gabriel burned his hands, that is all." Mary Ellen was still impressed at the concern Isabella showed for all the staff even though she had yet to meet the majority of the field workers due to Erik's strict instruction to keep away from that area.

"Gabriel…uh…"

"He helps Mister Godard in the stable. You remember…he saddled your horse the other day."

"Now I remember, yes!" she exclaimed, then, "How in the world did he become burned and is he badly injured?"

"The blacksmith had come earlier to fashion new shoes for the horses, my Lady. The metal pot he used to heat up the coals and soften the horseshoe was still hot when Gabriel went to empty it. Of course he did not know at the time that it was hot. Dùghall had sent word out to the workers to wait until nightfall to empty the pot, but apparently, it did not reach Gabriel. When he lifted the handle, it burned him. But it was not as serious as it seems, my Lady. We put his hands into the cold water buckets and wrapped the wounds, I believe it is only superficial and he will be fine by morning."

Isabella's eyes narrowed, "Well, that is a relief. But why on earth did someone not post a sign to warn everyone of the danger?" She knew from Jarrod that there were at least two hundred field workers. It couldn't be expected for something like that to make the rounds, even to at least the couple of dozen who work around the stable.

"It would not have done much good, my Lady, as most of them cannot read." She informed her in an unusually matter of fact manner.

That stopped Isabella in her tracks. "They can't read?"

"No, of course not."

"What about the house staff, can they read? I know you can." Indeed, sometimes when she entered the kitchen to eat with them, she'd seen Mary Ellen reading out loud something she'd showed her earlier in the paper. She just naturally assumed that they liked her reading voice.

"Jarrod and I can both read, my Lady. Lillian understands a few words, as Teresa does." Mary Ellen tied the last lace of Isabella's corset and instructed her to sit down.

"Teresa? I wrote down several dishes and ingredients for her."

Isabella took her hairbrush and began to brush out her long, smooth blonde hair.

"Yes, you did. I read it to her and she memorized them."

Isabella slapped her forehead, "I had no idea! Why did neither of them tell me they couldn't read? And why haven't you ever tried to teach them?"

"My Lady," Mary Ellen began slowly as she took the brush from her to finish the job, "It is not my place to teach others to read. I do not believe it would be approved of. Besides, it is not uncommon for most workers, especially those who have been working since they were very young, as Lillian has, not to be able to read. Schools are scarce in the poorer parts of London and essentially, it is more important to learn to work and earn money for the family, then it is to be educated."

She looked away and shook her head, ashamed of herself. Of course. Even back in Amsville, she knew that a lot of the less fortunate families pushed their children to vocational work rather than education. Many times, she fought the parents to keep their children in her class, if anything, so they could just learn to read and write.

Well, at least that was something she knew she could remedy here in her new home. The idea she could possibly teach again elated her.

"Then I shall begin teaching everyone who wants to learn, how to read and write."

That got an unexpected gasp from Mary Ellen.

"Is something wrong?"

"I am sorry for my small outburst, my Lady, but that is unheard of."

"Why? Everyone has the right to learn to read and write."

"I do not think Lord Erik would approve."

"Don't worry. I shall speak to him about it. I think he can be reasonable and see I'm only trying to help. Besides, it would give me something to fill my days rather than embroidery or reading."

Mary Ellen could only nod. She didn't believe it would work, but she couldn't bring herself to say. Not after the look of hope on Isabella's face.

"Umm…" Isabella began, her tone turning the subject around, "I'm curious about something else and I was hoping you might help me." She had very little alone time with Mary Ellen that didn't involve cleaning, she thought now would be a good time to ask her about Dùghall.

"Of course, if I can."

"Lillian told me you've been working for Erik for many years now, so you've heard things, seen things…."

She felt Mary Ellen's hand halt with the brush halfway down her hair and saw her look down uncomfortably as she answered, "I suppose I have."

She took a chance and blurted out, "What does he have against Mister Godard?"

She heard no reply.

"Mary Ellen?"

"I do not know if I should say, my Lady."

She turned to face her, "You can tell me anything, I won't go to Erik, you know that by now."

"Yes I know, my Lady but…"

"What?"

"It was only a rumor, mind you, from one of the former maids."

That was a start. "Go on."

"Amelia, her name was. She told me that the reason Lord Erik hated Dùghall was because of how he looked. She heard him tell Louis that he was too perfect." She told her, keeping her voice as low as possible.

"That's it? Because he's _perfect_?"

Perfect. The ideal word to describe Dùghall Godard. He had it all, looks, strength, great work ethic and enough charm to lure a bear from honey. No wonder every female on the staff sighed when he passed by. It's a wonder she hadn't fallen for him herself.

"Yes."

"Then why did he hire him in the first place?"

"He did not, Louis did. And when he asked Louis why _he_ had hired him, he was told that he was the strongest, best man for the position and if he had not hired him, someone else would have. That, I feel Lord Erik could not deny then nor now."

"And this is why he is not allowed in the house as well?"

"Oh, I am sure there is an additional reason for that, I just do not know what it is."

"You never found out?"

"There was no time, the next day after our conversation, she was gone."

Her eyes widened. "Amelia quit? Just like that and _poof_?"

"Yes, my Lady. But I do not think she quit, for the next day, he hired Lillian and nothing more was spoken of her. If she had quit, she would have at least told everyone goodbye."

Now that was interesting.

"So she was working for Erik when you were hired?"

"Yes, I have been working here six years and she was the only one that had been there the longest, besides Jarrod. And believe me, when I inquired about anything to do with Amelia to him, he was tight lipped. Eventually, I just quit asking."

_How odd_, she thought to herself as she turned back to the mirror. Mary Ellen resumed brushing her hair and she took the quiet moment to think about whether or not she should proceed with the next question.

"While we're on the subject of my new husband..."

"My Lady?"

"Did this other maid tell you how Erik came to wear a mask?"

Mary Ellen took a moment to look around the room, then came even closer and whispered in her ear, "She told me it was an injury, but what the nature of it was, she never said."

"Because she left."

"Yes."

"And the room on the third floor, the locked one?"

"You have been up there?" The older woman's eyes widened in surprise.

"Only to discover the lock."

"My Lady." Mary Ellen put her hand on Isabella's shoulder, "I will tell you what I told Lillian. The last person to go up there was another housemaid. She was young, had not been here long and was too curious for her own good. She picked the lock and went inside. What she found there, no one knows because Lord Erik saw her there and took her away before anyone could ask her what was inside. She did not return."

Now, that was rather spooky and Isabella felt a slight chill because of it. "Don't tell me he had her killed or something."

"Oh no, my Lady. But he sent her away, that is for sure."

"Amelia told you this story?"

"Yes, she witnessed it. She said she was ordered to bring Lord Erik a leather strap to his library and when she did, he told her to remain. Then he whipped her. Striped up her back good from what she told me. Then he told her to take the girl away and inform the staff to look at the girl's punishment for such defiance and remember it, for it would happen to anyone who went where they were not allowed. The girl was never seen again after that day. I was told she simply could not handle what had happened and she left."

_Dear God_… She went from a chill to a full blown shudder at the picture of such a barbaric act. Was this yet another part of English culture that she had yet to be introduced to? "That just doesn't seem like the man I know now, granted we have only known one another for a week, but..."

"I can assure you, this was the only time a member of the staff was punished this way. It is definitely not his typical behavior, my Lady, but when it comes to that room…and to Mister Godard…he is most strict. Lord Erik has always been firm, but also very fair. He spoke to us often and always made himself available to us if we needed him. All he asked of us is that we return the gesture and respect his wishes."

"So it was just that one time he showed such a morose side." Isabella thought back to her conversation the day before where his voice had showed concern for Teresa when he thought she had injured herself. She could tell that somewhere, deep inside, Erik truly cared for his staff.

"Yes, just that one time, that is, until we knew of your impending arrival."

"Me?" That was a shock. She was being blamed for the drastic mood swings she's been experiencing? "Why would I suddenly alter his temperament in such a way?"

"I do not know, my Lady. Lord Erik has always been one to keep to himself, but we noticed he became much more reclusive just after your father left to return to America after making the deal. He became snappish to anyone who tried to speak to him. Then soon after, he simply stopped speaking altogether, other than to give us orders."

She sighed and nodded, stunned at what she heard. Here, she was hoping for answers and now she was left with many more questions. She knew that the arrangement between her and Erik was business, but wasn't it his idea? And if it was, why would it blacken his mood as it did.

But the biggest mystery for her still remained. What was in that room and after what she just heard, should she still attempt to enter it?

* * *

Another half hour passed and no sooner had Mary Ellen put the finishing touches on her hair, did Lillian burst into the room.

"Mum! Your hair is simply divine!" she exclaimed, carrying up a tray of food. She sat it down on a small side table and removed the domes.

"Why, thank you. Mary Ellen did a beautiful job." She stood to admire it before walking over to the tray and looking at its contents. "What is all this?"

Lillian grinned at her, "Teresa thought you might want to eat a little bit now as she knew you would be a bit nervous at dinner. Besides, I think she wanted you to sample the food she made."

"Did she now?" she laughed. "I'll be glad to. And she's right, with this corset so tight, I fear I'll not be able to eat a morsel in front of anyone for fear of belching."

The three of them laughed as Isabella took what appeared to be a small, bite sized bread roll and popped it in her mouth. Instantly, she could taste the meat and cheese stuffed inside. "Umm….!" She mumbled as it melted in her mouth. "That is delicious!"

Lillian grinned broadly, "She was hoping you would like…"

"What amuses you so, ladies?"

Both Mary Ellen and Lillian gasped at the sight of Erik standing at Isabella's bedroom door.

"Good evening." He nodded at Isabella.

Stunned at being caught laughing, Mary Ellen grabbed for a robe to cover Isabella, as Lillian said apologetically, "Forgive us, we were just talking, my Lord, I know we have much to do before this evening and…."

But he merely raised his hand to silence her, signaling he was not upset.

Isabella had been so stunned in her own right by the sight of Erik in his formal evening attire that she completely forgot she was standing in her corset and pantalets. Although, truly, it was nothing but black slacks and jacket, but the vest was burgundy with elaborate embroidery and the cravat appeared to be pure burgundy silk. His mask, which for the first time, proved to her that he _could_ remove it, was now stark white instead of his usual opaque. If she had less control, she would surely have let out a loud sigh and embarrassed herself.

As it was, she stupidly uttered, "You look…different."

_Brilliant, Belle, just brilliant._

He smirked lightheartedly at her comment as well as Mary Ellen's frantic attempt to get a robe on her. Respectfully, he turned away. "If you prefer, I can return _after_ you have covered yourself."

Isabella pulled the robe around and tied it. "I'm fine, please come in."

He entered and nodded towards Lillian and Mary Ellen. They silently exited the room, but kept the door open behind them.

She looked at him and for a second time, fought the urge to gawk at his overwhelming presence. Considering what she'd just heard about him, instead of gawking, she seriously considered the idea that she should just run screaming all the way back to America, but as she looked into his eyes, it just didn't seem possible. After all, Mary Ellen never saw what happened; she only had this Amelia's word as proof. There was always two sides of the story.

So, instead of swooning like a young girl over a handsome man, she decided to shove another bread roll into her mouth, then regretted it almost immediately as she realized that piece was much larger than the other one and she must have looked like a glutton. She grabbed a napkin and covered her mouth.

But, on the contrary, Erik found her sudden awkwardness towards him quite charming, although he was not sure as to why she had become so.

"Is there something you wanted?" she asked him, slightly muffled by the last of the bread roll before she swallowed.

He laughed graciously at her, "Actually, yes. I wanted to check on you and perhaps give you some information as to what is expected this evening."

"I see. I was about to dress, but that can wait."

"If you will allow me to assist you, we can kill two birds with one stone, as they say. Unless you feel uncomfortable with me seeing you in your corset and pantalets."

"You've seen far less of most other women." She retorted. She had tried to be funny, but by the look of surprise on Erik's face, she'd offended him. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I hadn't intended to insult you."

He merely smiled dismissively as he reached for the gown that lay on her bed, "Think nothing of it. I suppose it is true, but still, I wish you to know, I never view someone, in any state of undress, who does not wish it."

The way he said that, with his eyes deeply concentrated on hers, told her that the statement went much deeper than those simple words. She felt herself blush as he approached with the gown and she turned her back to remove her robe.

"So, you said you wished to remind me about what was expected?" she said to change the subject. He held the gown up and she raised her arms above her head and gently wiggled into it.

Erik helped slide the gown down, thankful she was turned away so he couldn't see the front of her body. And so she couldn't see his reaction to the parts of her body that he could see. "Yes. As I said at our first meeting, we must look the part of a married couple. Hand holding, loving looks and the like are expected from those wanting to see a typical newlywed couple."

"What about kissing?"

"Most would only expect us to kiss on the cheek in front of company."

"Very well. And do you have a story you wish to tell them as to how we met?"

"Yes, I plan to tell them that you accompanied your father here during his travels and that we met and spent a great deal of time together. When your father was ready to depart, I asked for your hand and he returned home without you. We chose to marry in secret as to avoid the usual social customs that come along with formal engagements. I think that is the best story that sticks to a good deal of truth.

"I will do my best to back up the story."

"Have you been instructed as to protocol?"

"Yes, Elizabeth has told me a few things, the rest I can take silent cues from both you and her."

"Good. They understand you are American and perhaps your customs and manners are different, but still, it is important that you present yourself a certain way and…" He started, then stopped as she turned around to him.

The vision of her in her new gown was breathtaking. Green. A color he would not normally find flattering in a gown, but the lightness of it, mingled with her eyes, which he still couldn't quite identify as green, like Rebecca's, nor brown, like... he cleared his throat. Too close a thought for right now. No, hazel was indeed the best assumption for her eyes, a pure mixture of many colors.

"I assume this is acceptable?" she asked him, noticing him gawk just slightly. She liked it, it showed he could be affected by someone other than a mistress.

"Most acceptable, yes. I do say you look very lovely. Everyone will be most impressed."

"I hope so, I do say I'm a bit nervous."

He took her hands before he could stop himself. They felt soft, so soft that almost all reason fled and he wanted nothing more than to stay there, frozen in time, so he could just look at her like that. "Don't be. I know I sounded rather droll, barking out instructions just now, but quite honestly, I do care for your well being more than what they think. You will be fine once we…oh my, I almost forgot."

He let go of her hands and without a word, darted out of the room.

"Erik?"

Silence.

_Dear heavens, what now?_ "Erik!"

He peeked his head back inside the door, then walked in slowly, holding something behind his back but she couldn't tell what it was.

"I should have given you this the first moment I met you, but I was not acting like a proper gentleman should, so to hope you will forgive me…" he pulled out a bouquet of a dozen long stemmed red roses from behind his back. They were wrapped in dark blue paper and tied with a red ribbon. "…these are for you."

She took them and the gesture alone sent her to tears. "You're forgiven," she laughed. "They are beautiful, thank you."

Her tears moved him deeply, causing an uncontrollable urge to go to his knees and tell her what he was feeling. He wanted to say how those roses paled in comparison to her beauty, how the pedals were not near as smooth as her skin, how the scent of them didn't come near to her own. But he couldn't. No, the side that held the hurt inside, the destructive pain, the horrible memories, that side shut down any hope that his heart could speak those very words. Instead, all it would allow him to say was, "You're welcome."

"Lord Erik?" Lillian spoke softly with a knock on the doorframe.

"Yes, Lillian."

"The Duke and Duchess have arrived."

"We will be down shortly."

He looked at Isabella and watched as she put the roses in a large vase and filled it with water from the pitcher at her beside table.

"I suppose we should go downstairs to formally greet Thomas and Elizabeth, the other guests will be arriving shortly. Are you ready?"

"Yes." She answered, taking his arm. "If I look presentable enough."

He looked down at her and with the most serious look she'd seen yet, he answered, "Presentable is a gross understatement, Isabella. You are beautiful and gracious. Tonight, you _are_ Lady Haven."

She smiled, moved by his compliment, proud that he believed in her.

Now if she could only believe in herself.

* * *

A/N: Thanks everyone for the very spirited reviews you gave the last chapter. As I told a few of you in private, its very difficult not to hope for Isabella to react in the way we think she should in a certain situation. But remember when reading, this is not modern times, things were done then that are no longer acceptable and how we want her to react i now /i is not necessarily how she would be have been expected to act i then /i . But again, thanks for reviewing and I'm glad everyone is liking the story so far. If you have any questions, you can always PM me here. :)


	9. Chapter 9 The Dinner Party

Haven

Chapter Nine:

Isabella's Memoirs:

_I officially became The Marchioness of Haven. _

_But I preferred Isabella Renault._

_Yes, I know I became that when I married Erik, but as the wedding was private, it was expected that I be announced as such at a formal gathering. Still, I found it turned into more of a cotillion, than a simple dinner party._

_I walked downstairs with Erik and saw Elizabeth and Thomas waiting at the bottom of the stairs for us. I'd seen Elizabeth's gown previously when she purchased it the day before, but on her, in such a proper setting, it was even more stunning. It was a very soft blue, so soft, that only in light could you see it was blue and not white. It had a high collar made of lace and long sleeves as mine did, which was proper (as I was told while shopping) for an evening dinner party, even on such a warm August night. The bow in the back was a darker blue that matched the ribbons in her hair. I told her how envious I was of how beautiful she looked and of course she scoffed at me, telling me I had no right to be as I was more beautiful. I knew that was definitely not true, but I thanked her just the same._

_We had only been in the elaborately decorated (thanks to Lillian and some additional house staff, hired just for this occasion) ballroom a few minutes, just long enough to admire the flowers and hear the musicians before Mary Ellen came and informed us that carriages were pulling up outside. I had barely time to breathe and gather myself before Erik brought me to the entrance of the large ballroom for formal introductions. Then I heard Jarrod begin to announce each couple's arrival._

_I started to realize as I was introduced to them, just how utterly official it all was, just as Elizabeth had warned me. In fact, I found immediately how difficult it was to refer to her as "Madam", as protocol requires, even though we had become good friends. Both Elizabeth and Thomas had always insisted I call them by their first names, as Erik did, instead of the usual, more formal greetings. They said it was almost unheard of and could only be done in the most private setting, but they simply find it more familiar and comfortable._

_There were eight other couples in attendance, but as I hardly saw most of the other couples except at specific social functions and some were less than memorable, I won't bother boring my future readers, nor wear out the kind person transcribing this from my vocal recitations. I shall only speak of the two most notable couples. _

_The first and most noteworthy would have to be Lord and Lady Wentworth. John Langley, the Earl of Wentworth was of lower social status (as Elizabeth had to practically quiz me on the hierarchy), yet I found them to be the stuffiest, rudest two people I had ever met. Unfortunately, Lady Cecelia Wentworth (who insisted on being called Lady Wentworth at all times) was just as Elizabeth had described her. I was hoping she was just exaggerating. She was the oldest woman there, but no one knew her exact age (and I found it was terribly inappropriate to ask anyone anyway, but Lillian told me later in private she was probably around sixty). She was also, by far, the strictest in terms of etiquette. I could see immediately she was very leery of me as I was introduced to her. She said that she found the mingling of English and American blood to make the most ignorant of children and I wondered how she would know that since she had stated to me that she didn't know any other Americans and would never visit there. But since I was representing myself and Erik, I kept silent. Needless to say, I did my best to avoid her the rest of the evening. I didn't succeed, but I gave it the effort._

_The other couple, who I found quite lovely and most gracious, was Edward and Jane Burrows. Edward is the Earl of Cather and I recalled hearing Erik refer to him as Cather to Thomas on a couple of occasions. I found I was able to sit and speak with Lady Jane much more comfortably than I could Lady Wentworth. She spoke with ease about her two daughters. The eldest, named Emelie, was twenty-four years old. She mentioned that at one point, they had sought a courtship between Emelie and Erik, but that it didn't work out and she was now engaged to a young man from London. I certainly didn't know anything about an attempted courtship between Emelie Burrows and Erik and wondered if Elizabeth did. Then again, what business is it of mine who Erik was supposed to have courted before I came along? I certainly don't think Lady Jane was being snide when referring to it, so I was gracious and said Erik had told me of his past and wished the young lady well._

_But by far, the highlight of the evening was Erik. Not just Erik himself and how he handled everything with incredible presence, but how he treated me. I felt as if I was the Queen of England herself. He kept hold of my hand on his arm for most of the night, while calling me such endearments as "my love", and "my darling", and even referring to me as "my dearest lady" to Lord Wentworth. He often came to me and gave me a peck on the cheek, as he'd told me earlier that evening that he would. There was always a glance my way that I could only interpret as, I daresay, loving and unless I was in the company of other women, he made sure I was never left alone. It was so magical that for a few hours, I let myself believe something could work out between us, let myself believe I could truly be The Marchioness of Haven, in every sense of the word…_

"I do say that I have always thought Lord Haven's home to be most lovely," Lady Cecelia Wentworth said as she sat down, uninvited, next to Isabella inside the ballroom after dinner. "although I truly wonder why he chooses to keep such a small house staff."

"I suppose he has never required more than he needed. He wouldn't wish to employ staff that sit around and do nothing." She turned and replied, fanning herself against the humid evening.

For the first time since the dinner party began, she was without Erik nearby. He, Thomas and the other men had retired to the sitting room to smoke cigars, drink brandy and talk of whatever it was men talked about that they felt ladies couldn't be present to hear. That left all the women in the ballroom, listening to the musicians play and chatting amongst themselves.

Except Isabella.

She'd so exhausted her brain with keeping up the pretense of proper English society that she needed a moment to sit alone and take everything in. She had no interest in hearing about the usual gossip that kept everyone's chins wagging, therefore, she found herself sitting in a chair next to the window, watching the last of the rain softly fall and inhaling the fresh fragrance of wet grass. She smiled at the first few peeks of moonlight that dared to shine from the dense clouds and made the rain drops glisten. Humid or not, it was pure solace and she'd wished to be standing right in the middle of the garden to experience it, just as she used to do at her home in Delaware.

Unfortunately, her peace was short lived.

"Amazing story he told of your meeting." Lady Wentworth began. Her tone appeared pleasant, yet Elizabeth had warned Isabella that most everything she said was laden in sarcasm. "Most people would not meet in such a manner. I would not have accompanied my father to the home of a man I had never met unless I was sure it was for the purpose of courtship." Lady Wentworth said.

"Who says my Father did not have that purpose in his mind the whole time?" Isabella cut her off.

The lady raised her eyebrows, "Lord Haven did not mention that."

"Perhaps he didn't know."

That drew a short breath and Isabella was already finding small satisfaction in saying things that would cause her to be the least bit shocked.

"If what you say is true, I am rather taken aback that your father would do this without Lord Haven's knowledge."

"Nothing about my father shocks me anymore."

Again, she got another long stare.

"But, as I said before, Erik and I met quite by accident and we fell in love. There was nothing more to that." Isabella spoke up before the subject of arranging _anything_ could go further.

"Unheard of." Lady Wentworth scoffed.

"Not in America."

Neither spoke for another moment as Lady Jane Burrows passed by while speaking to Elizabeth.

"My, that Lady Cather…" Lady Wentworth said, clicking her tongue in a condescending _tsk tsk tsk_ tone. It became obvious to Isabella that she'd gotten the last word in about Erik and Lady Wentworth purposely changed the subject.

"What about her?"

"Such a tragic life she has had."

"Oh?"

"She only has daughters, you see." Lady Wentworth began once she realized she now had Isabella's attention. "With no sons to inherit the Cather title, that leaves Miss Emelie and Miss Katrine and of course Miss Emelie is now going to marry a commoner. Most unbecoming, to allow her to do that when the title has to be inherited."

"I see." Isabella rolled her eyes. More gossip. Who cares who Emelie Burrows marries as long as she's happy?

"And of course, she did have that unfortunate illness in which she lost her child."

That perked her interest. "She had a miscarriage?"

"That she did. Caught a terrible case of influenza and the fever was so bad the poor child simply could not survive it."

"How sad. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yes, terribly tragic, as I heard it was a boy."

She shot her head around to the woman again. She wanted to ask her what difference it made either way, but she knew the answer and didn't bother to open her mouth other than to say, "I see." If she'd said more, she would've called the woman something quite unbecoming and spoil the evening.

"And, of course, The Duchess…"

Now, this she had to hear. She wondered if Lady Wentworth knew anything about Elizabeth she didn't. Not only would she take it with a grain of salt, but she'd enjoy telling Elizabeth what she heard.

"Yes?" she leaned in closer, pretending to be most anxious to hear.

Lady Wentworth whispered most elaborately, emphasizing every word, "She is not really a Duchess."

Aha! This was _indeed_ going to be good.

"She's not?" She faked a gasp and covered her mouth with her gloved hand.

"Oh no!" Lady Wentworth leaned in closer, "The Duke only inherited his title because his uncle, the real Duke of Waverly, died in a tragic accident and with him, his only son, who was only nineteen and unmarried at the time. His own father, the Viscount of Shellingham, had passed away years before. The Duke was his only son, his daughter already married away. Therefore, he inherited his uncle's title and the entire Waverly estate."

Isabella was a tad let down, considering Elizabeth had already told her the story of how he became a Duke, yet she truly enjoyed hearing it told in the way Lady Wentworth did, as if it was the most horrible thing that could have ever happened.

"I see." She replied, still continuing to let her believe she was hanging on her every word.

"And do you realize, the Duke still insists on working?"

She rolled her eyes out of sight of Lady Wentworth and feigned an "Oh my" for her benefit. Actually, it was one of the things that made Thomas and Elizabeth so great. They were down to earth, good with their staff and never tried to be anybody they weren't.

"Of course I do know that Lord Haven and he both have their business together, but then again, I am sure you also know that Lord Haven himself is not actually a true Marquess."

This was definitely not something anyone had told her! She surprised herself with the curiosity that rose. Finally, someone who might actually know some details about Erik's life.

"I know what _Erik_ told me, what did _you_ hear?" she lied.

"As I am sure he told you, dear, he is French by birth. Spoiled and indulged, I heard. Yet, for some reason, he left France about ten years ago, gave up his inheritance and settled here in England. Most of his money he made himself in the business he began with The Duke. So of course, one would wonder…"

Now Isabella was truly fascinated. She was sure even Elizabeth didn't know this or she would have told her. "If he is French, how does he have an English title?" she found herself asking before she could stop it, "I mean, what were you told?"

"Well, it is rumor, mind you dear, but I heard he…purchased it."

"Purchased the title of Marquess of Haven?" Did people actually do that sort of thing?

"Yes, for a handsome price offered…well, donated to the government."

"Fascinating. Wouldn't that be rather…well, corrupt?"

Lady Wentworth's voice grew even quieter, "I certainly would not know about that. But of course, as I said, it is all rumors. I certainly would not wish to say anything bad against the monarchy."

"Oh, of course not."

She wanted to ask more, but she could already see Lady Wentworth sitting up and dusting off her gown. She could kick a rock, she was so close! Stuffy old woman! She'd tear down anyone but she sure wouldn't speak against royalty.

Slowly, Lady Wentworth stood, fanning herself elaborately, "I see I have sat by the window too long, my gown shall surely mildew from the dampness. It would have been more appropriate for Lord Haven to have had the shutters placed on the windows tonight."

Well, conversation was definitely over. My goodness, the woman could turn from Cinderella to an ugly step sister without blinking an eye.

"He did not do so, at my request." Isabella smirked at her, "I find the night air, especially after a rain, most refreshing."

"Umph…" she turned up nose, "I suppose you would, as most Americans live in the wilderness in those most unbecoming homes made of round tree logs that resemble servant quarters more than homes. I am sure you get more than your share of night air. Yet here, Lady Haven, we do prefer a bit more civility."

Isabella stood quickly and her mouth flew open, prepared to make an immediate (and ugly) response at the stereotypical insult, but not before Elizabeth approached with Lady Jane close behind.

"Lady Wentworth." Her voice was calm, but her tone told those few within earshot that she was very put off by what she'd heard, "Lady Caldwell was asking to speak with you." she pointed over to another corner of the ballroom where two other women were speaking privately. Isabella could clearly tell that Lady Caldwell was well enthralled in her conversation and probably didn't want to speak to Lady Wentworth at all. But Elizabeth had a cool, lying tongue, so she sure wasn't going to point out that minor tidbit.

"I do not see that she…" the older woman's voice squeaked.

"I believe she meant_now_."

"Oh, yes of course. Thank you, Duchess." Seeing she was not going to be allowed any further talk, she finally nodded and went on her way.

Only then did Isabella release the death grip she had on her poor, defenseless fan. "Oh, the nerve of that woman….did you hear….?" She gritted through her teeth.

Immediately, Lady Jane sat by her side. "Do not allow yourself to lose your patience over her words, Lady Isabella. She is a most unpleasant woman, but fortunately, she keeps to her home most times and she is not seen socially, but perhaps at the theatre. After tonight, you might never have to speak with her in such close quarters again."

That was a relief. _And_ a disappointment. She found it a shame that the only woman who might know information about Erik was such a sharp tongued adder.

"Thank you. Yes, I shouldn't let her bother me. I just find such ignorance so upsetting." Isabella told Lady Jane, then added under her breath, "The old cow."

Lady Jane gasped, then covered her mouth with a giggle as Elizabeth cheerily sat down on the other side of her, "Do not worry yourself any longer. Lady Jane has invited us to her home tomorrow afternoon for tea. She has a lovely home, my friend, we shall bring our riding habits and take her beautiful horses around the estate."

"And you shall have the chance to meet my daughters as well." Lady Jane spoke in the same cheery tone.

"And I shall bring chocolates to enjoy with our tea." Elizabeth added.

_Chocolates? Riding?_

How could Isabella not smile at such an invitation?

"I'd be delighted."

* * *

"It appears my lovely hostess has disappeared." A deep, but soft male voice came from behind Isabella as she stood on the small veranda outside the ballroom. "This is a most distressing turn of events." 

A half hour had passed since her run-in with Lady Cecelia Wentworth and she was still sick at the sight of her.

"How odd. I wonder where she might have wondered off to?" she asked the voice without turning around.

The sound of heavy footsteps coming closer to her made her inhale ever so softly.

"I would not know. But as I do not believe I could be host _and_ hostess, perhaps you could take over her duties?" Erik's hand graced across softly on Isabella's shoulder, brushing away just a few strands of her hair before resting on her night warmed skin. Such a gentle touch. She had to force herself to concentrate on the moonlight creeping across the stone floor of the veranda in order to summon the courage to turn around and face him.

"I suppose that could be arranged." She smirked.

He smiled down at her, "It would be most appreciated, as most everyone is preparing to leave."

"Already?" she asked.

She could smell the faintest whiff of brandy, but couldn't detect cigar smoke. So, he liked his brandy, but didn't smoke cigars….interesting.

Erik took her hand and placed it on his arm, "Yes, after all, it is close to midnight."

"That late? My, I hadn't noticed." She answered, her voice still a bit far away.

Erik started for the house with her, but stopped instead just short of the door. Something important had to be said before they could return to their guests. "Isabella. I heard Elizabeth tell Thomas of Lady Wentworth's insult."

Her eyes shot his way, "Oh, did you?"

"Yes, and I wish you to know that I am most displeased about it. I truly apologize that you were insulted in such a manner, especially since I was not around to speak on your behalf. I would speak to Lord Wentworth, instruct him to reprimand her, but I find, unfortunately, he would only agree with his wife's assessment. He tried to say as much in the library earlier, but I told him if he spoke his mind about your nationality, I would have no choice but to remove him from my home and not allow him inside again."

She could hardly believe her ears. He defended her! She was sure her mouth had flown open in her surprise. "Thank you." She managed to say. "It was kind of you to stand up for me…especially after…"

"…I should have stood up for you with Rebecca."

"Yes." She answered, probably quicker than she should have.

He rubbed her hand that lay still on his arm. "That was a shameful thing I did, Isabella, a terrible mistake. But I assure you, I do not make the same mistakes twice."

His voice was firm and although she appreciated the sentiment, she wasn't entirely sure he was referring to Lord and Lady Wentworth or Rebecca. Something in his eyes seemed to change with that last statement. What, she couldn't identify exactly, but it was enough to make her silently resolve to find out.

* * *

"Do you think it went well?" Isabella asked Mary Ellen, fidgeting in wait. The guests had been gone only twenty minutes and already she was back in her room, so anxious to get out of the corset and into her shift, that she'd practically run up the stairs. 

Mary Ellen patiently removed the last hair ribbon from her hair, then helped her shrug out of her gown. She laid it out gently on the bed, then started unlacing the corset and chuckled when Isabella mumbled, "Faster, I'm dying to breathe."

"Just a few laces now, my Lady, it is much easier to unlace as it is to lace. And yes, I think it went quite well tonight. I heard nothing but praises for your hospitality. Everyone seemed much taken by you. You carried yourself as a true English lady."

"I am glad. I didn't wish to do or say something wrong. Although a couple of times, I know I messed up, especially with the etiquette. So much to remember. And Lady Wentworth didn't make it any easier."

"Ah yes, Lady Wentworth she can be a bit…"

"Snobbish? Rude?"

"I do not wish to speak ill of anyone, but…"

"Oh you can say anything around me, Mary Ellen. As I told Lady Jane tonight, she's nothing but an old cow."

Mary Ellen laughed and Isabella sighed elaborately in relief as the corset released her from its hold. It was so tight in fact, that when the last lace was undone, it almost shot across the room. She scratched her itchy skin as Mary Ellen reached for her shift that lay on the bed. "Do you wish to bathe? I have some lotion that will help with the itching."

"No, the itching will subside; I'd prefer to wait til morning for a bath. I'm so wound up from the party that I think I'll just read before retiring."

"Very well, my Lady. I shall fetch you a book from my Lord's library."

"Oh no, don't bother yourself, I can do it." She replied as she put on her soft cotton shift. Her skin instantly felt relief. "You go to bed, you have to rise early enough as it is to start your own duties tomorrow."

"Of course, as you wish." She gathered up Isabella's gown and started for the door.

"And Mary Ellen?"

She turned to look at her, "Yes, my Lady?"

"Inform Lillian not to wake me at the usual time, I wish to sleep in. Tell her to let Teresa know I only want fruit in the morning as well, as I will be having chocolates with tea tomorrow afternoon at Lady Jane Burrows' home."

"I shall let her know on my way to bed, my Lady."

"Thank you."

"You are welcome." Mary Ellen answered as she opened the door to leave. "Goodnight, my…"

"Mary Ellen!"

Again, the maid turned and this time, studied her more closely, "Yes, my Lady?"

"Did I really do alright?"

Isabella's soft eyes showed an innocent, childlike hopefulness the maid had never seen before. She knew immediately what was behind it.

"He was pleased, my Lady. Most pleased."

Relief washed over her again. As strange as it was, she just needed to know for sure. "Thank you. Goodnight, Mary Ellen."

"Goodnight, my Lady."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the reviews once again. I'm trying to keep the posting to around once a week or so, as it's taking time to write it all out. Hope you enjoy, some more secrets will be coming in future chapters! 


	10. Chapter 10 No Empty Threat

Haven

Chapter Ten:

The door creaked softly as it opened and Isabella walked inside. The library was dark, other than the light that her candle gave off, but it was enough to shine on the bookshelves nearby so she could read titles. She was alone and could take her time to choose whatever book suited her fancy.

But she wasn't as alone as she thought.

Erik was sitting in the large chair by the window, as per his routine most nights before retiring. But this night was different. Instead of going over the day's work, facts, figures, money in his head, all he could think of was the dinner party.

He wasn't sure what to think anymore. For a few hours, his mind let his heart believe that he could have what he'd denied himself for so long…a true wife. All night, he'd been diligent to keep Isabella by his side so she wouldn't feel so overwhelmed. Even from opposite ends of the dining table, he kept close watch on how she was doing, alert at any moment and more than prepared to end the evening if he sensed she was unable to continue. He soon found himself almost glued to her as she spoke to Elizabeth or the other guests. Found, to his pleasure, that he was fascinated by her grace, the way she'd moved with ease in her dress, knowing it was uncomfortable and cumbersome. He delighted in her genuine laugh anytime Thomas told an amusing anecdote. He made note of the way her voice would drop an octave when she spoke of her home, her family.

And her eyes. At times, they'd seemed to twinkle brighter than the stars, especially when she'd looked his way.

After the guests had left, Erik had intended to escort her to her room to say goodnight, but was untimely delayed by Thomas at the door and by the time he'd returned, Lillian had informed him that she was already in her room. He chose not to disturb her; sure she was tired and would retire early, but he couldn't help but feel the disappointment. There was so much he'd wanted to say and hated having it wait til the morning. He'd wanted to thank her for putting up with the warm, humid August night to dine with eighteen other people she otherwise would have no real interest in spending time with. To put up with having to have her first dance with him be under the watchful eye of those same guests, yet never showing one hint of nervousness or apprehension. To go through all this for him, for his standing in society only to end up being insulted by an insensitive and snobbish woman. He'd wanted to tell her how much he admired her for leaving her home and marrying him to begin with, just to ensure her family's savings.

But how could he tell her that he'd never have dared ruin her family then, but especially now, even if she chose to go home tomorrow?

He'd no sooner let his mind drift even further away, allowing such hopeful, yet unobtainable dreams cloud his reason than he heard the door to his library click open. He stayed perfectly still in his corner chair to see Isabella walk inside. Wearing only a shift and soft blue robe, she held a single candle. It illuminated her like an angel and he debated inside whether or not he should speak. He cursed his cowardess and chose to wait.

"Umm…something I can fall asleep to…" Isabella hummed softly as she began browsing through the first shelf she came to that was eye level.

She gently slid the first book off the shelf and looked at it. A collection of Robert Burns poetry. Nice, but nothing that would hold her interest. She replaced it and removed the one directly to the right. This one had more promise.

"A Study in Scarlet." She said wistfully to herself. Arthur Conan Doyle. She'd read a couple of his books, but not this one. Perfect for a late night read. She gently laid it down on the coffee table nearby and continued on.

More volumes of poetry, no. Different books in French. No use to her since she didn't speak the language. Except one that suddenly stood out. Jules Verne. She knew of the author.

"Le toor due Mondee...in...quat...ra... "

"Le tour du Monde," Erik whispered softly under his breath, "You can do it, sound it out."

Determined to give it another shot, she envisioned the way the French travelers had spoken in Boston, the sound that they made, the way they formed certain words. So what if _reading_ French seemed impossible? She sure couldn't know one way or the other unless she tried.

"Le tour du Monde…en...quatra... " she began again, but became frustrated at the last part, "quatra ving...ugh, ving joo….joors? No, joor. Oh, forget it."

"Do not give up so easily, Isabella."

The sound of a voice, even as deep and smooth as Erik's was startling in the quiet room, so startling that Isabella turned toward it with a yelp, dropping the book to the floor, narrowly missing her foot in the process. The thump was loud and echoed like it was a cave.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you." His voice remained low and calm, regretting his sudden outburst. "I was sure you had seen me when you entered." He lied at the last sentence, of course. Without a doubt, he knew she hadn't seen him, not in such a dark corner. It was the only way to watch her the way he'd wanted."

Isabella gathered herself, her hand still over her heart. "I assure you, if I'd seen you, I would have spoken."

"Of course, forgive me, my mistake."

"Where are you?" her eyes tried to scan around, but the candle light only went so far and there simply wasn't enough moonlight to add to it.

Taking it as a cue, he stood up and Isabella could see his silhouette pass across the large window, half covered by thick drapes. She silently gave thanks that he'd spoken to her first, for if she'd seen that shadow pass in such a manner, she would have given it up for a ghost and ran off like a frightened rabbit.

"I was sitting in the corner chair." He said when he reached her, then bent down and picked up the book. He handed it to her, "I believe you dropped this."

"That I did. Thank you." She took the book and again looked at it. "It is such a beautiful language, but very difficult to pronounce. What does it say?"

"Le Tour du Monde en Quatre-Vingts Jours." He replied. "Try it."

She repeated twice. The first time with a bit of difficulty, but the second time was almost flawlessly.

"You have a wonderful ear for repetition."

"So I have been told often enough, thank you. What does that mean in English?"

"The English version of this book would be, Around the World in Eighty Days."

So that's why it seemed familiar. "Oh! I knew I recognized the author."

"You have read the book?"

"Yes, I have. My father has a library, although not as large as this, of course. Jules Verne is one of his favorites; he has several including this one…well, except it wasn't in French, of course."

"What books did _you_ have there?" he asked her as he fought to urge to allow his eyes to rake over her body.

Her eyes immediately lit up, "Many. I truly enjoy women authors, like Emily Dickenson and Harriet Beecher Stowe, but I also love reading a good Edgar Allen Poe once in a while. And John Greenleaf Whittier wrote a terrific book called The Witch of Wenham. I actually finished that on the boat ride here. But I had books I didn't bring with me, such as…oh, Melville, Hawthorne…"

"The Scarlet Letter, no doubt." He interrupted her.

"Why yes. Have you read it?"

Erik pointed up about two shelves above Isabella's reach, "It is right there. That is, if you care to read it again anytime soon."

"I shall remember that. Right now, I am looking for new books to read. Actually, I saw something here that looked interesting." Isabella removed a leather bound edition from the shelf after placing the Verne book on top of Doyle's on the coffee table.

Erik watched her silently. No words could immediately come; although he was praying for them to, anything to keep himself from standing there looking catatonic. Yet, her standing so close to him, in that soft looking and rather thin shift, it didn't allow much room for a man to think.

"Erik?" she looked up at him.

"Oh, yes?"

"Did you hear me?"

"My apologies, I am tired. What did you say?"

"I just asked who Nit-she was."

"Umm?"

She showed him the book. "Here, Nit-she."

He laughed softly, "Nietzsche, Friedrich Nietzsche. He is a philosopher. Not widely known, but his thoughts on the current state of Europe are very interesting."

"I see." She put the book back in place. Not her cup of tea for the evening, but she made mental note of it to pick up later when she knew she would have more time to devote to it.

"A book you might find more entertaining is this one, since you enjoy women authors." Erik said, inching even closer to her. He reached above to a higher shelf and pulled it down. "This is by Matilda Betham-Edwards."

He handed it to her and she looked at it closely, "Holidays in Eastern France."

"Yes, she's a poet as well as author and she has written a couple of excellent books about her travels to France."

Isabella opened it up to the first page, delighted to see it was in English. She read the first paragraph:

_How delicious to escape from the fever heat and turmoil of Paris during the Exhibition to the green banks and sheltered ways of the gently undulating Marne! With what delight we wake up in the morning to the noise, if noise it can be called, of the mower's scythe, the rustle of acacia leaves, and the notes of the stock-dove, looking back as upon a nightmare to the horn of the tramway conductor, and the perpetual grind of the stone-mason's saw. Yes! to quit Paris at a time of tropic heat, and nestle down in some country resort is, indeed, like exchanging Dante's lower circle for Paradise. The heat has followed us here, but with a screen of luxuriant foliage ever between us and the burning blue sky, and with a breeze rippling the leaves always, no one need complain._

"That's very lovely. Indeed, she has a way with words." She smiled back at Erik.

"I agree. I had considered suggesting it to you, even before tonight, I thought you might like reading more about France, since I…"

One silent breath fell, then another. They were only inches apart. So close, he could still smell the lingering hint of the perfume she'd worn earlier. Again, lost in her very presence, the conflict in his mind grew stronger. He knew he must back away, keep his distance, but his feet seemed encased in cement.

"Since you're from France?" She finished for him. Her voice was soft, softer than she'd realized, and to her astonishment, she felt herself growing a bit faint. He'd come close to her to remove the book, but instead of resuming his original position, he'd remained, looming. His close proximity seemed to rob her of the very air she needed to breathe.

His eyes. Even by the light of the candle, they were still stunning. And the mask. Although he had changed into a dark velvet smoking jacket, he kept the white mask on instead of resuming the use of the opaque one. She liked it better. A thousand thoughts flooded her mind, and none of them were very ladylike.

Erik turned away from her momentarily and finally willed himself to take a step backwards, now painfully aware that his feelings for her were having a physical effect, not only on him, but possibly on her as well. He coughed, "What were you saying?"

"I only asked, you are French by birth, correct?"

He silently berated himself. How ridiculous to assume she wouldn't figure out he was a true Frenchman. He didn't exactly hide it, yet he wasn't anxious to admit it. Questions. It would just lead to more questions.

"Yes." He finally answered, then took a breath and quickly changed the subject before she could reply. "I had thought you would retire early. Lillian usually selects books for you to read upstairs."

"Oh, well, yes." She answered, confused as to why he went so far off topic, "I am tired, but still too wound up from tonight to sleep immediately. Lillian is still helping the workers clean up. Mary Ellen had volunteered to find some for me, but I wanted to do it myself." She turned back to him, "I hope that was alright. You did tell me the library was at my disposal."

"Of course…" Once more, he drifted away.

More silence. It was becoming almost maddening.

"Erik," she gathered her courage to break it, "I would really like it if we could talk. Really talk, now that we are alone." Talk, yes. But alone, sitting close was what she really craved at that very second.

Again, Erik turned to avoid her gaze, "We have been alone before."

"Yes, but we've only spoken in such general terms. With a dining table between us, we don't do anything but chat about the weather or something equally as trivial."

"I was not aware you found our dinner chats trivial."

"Oh no! It isn't that. Oh my, I must have sounded so insincere, I apologize." Isabella felt as if she'd overstepped her boundaries and insulted him. "It seems as you use this as a place to relax. I'm terribly sorry if I've disturbed you. I could…"

He put up his hand, "No, you have never been insincere, Isabella and yes, I always spend a little time in here alone to think before retiring to bed. But make no mistake, I assure you your presence here is never unwelcome. So, if we are going to talk, may I offer you some brandy?"

* * *

Isabella remained quiet and still as Erik sat down, two snifters of brandy in his hands. It didn't escape her detection that he was sitting on the very spot on the chaise where she'd seen him with Rebecca on his lap. She coughed as she took her brandy and tried to put the thought out of her mind.

But Erik noticed. "I apologize; I should have realized sitting here would make you uncomfortable. Would you prefer to talk in the parlor instead?

She looked down at the amber colored liquid and shrugged, "In here is fine. I suppose I can't let myself become preoccupied over a piece of furniture, now can I?"

"As you wish, but we can leave at anytime if you feel the need." He told her, then took a sip of his brandy.

"Thank you." She brought the snifter to her lips and inhaled for courage.

She didn't want to tell Erik she hadn't had a drop of alcohol in her life. That her father never approved, told her drinking was for unrefined women only, even though she had seen her mother drink wine on more than one occasion. Instead, she filled her mouth with the brandy and swallowed, proud of herself for it. To hell with what Simon Hawkins thought now. After all, he thought coming to England to improve his wealth was a good idea and look where that got him.

"Umm…very good…" she began, then the liquid slid further down her throat and the ensuing burn was so bad that she immediately started to choke.

_Brilliant, Isabella, kill yourself in front of him, why don't you?_

Erik knew from the moment he'd handed her the brandy that she never drank, but admired her for keeping up the pretense. He smirked as he watched her gather her breath before speaking.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, embarrassed, but alright. I suppose I drank a little too much in one sip." She tried to lie but she saw it on Erik's face. Damn, she couldn't fool him. "I mean…well…"

"No need for explanation, think nothing of it. Next time, do not take such a large swallow. How do you find it?"

_Find it? It burns like Dante's Inferno, that's how I find it. _

Although, once the burning sensation had subsided, she did notice how it seemed to warm her all over. Perhaps there was something to this after all. She slowly took another, much smaller sip and swallowed it carefully.

"It does burn less with small sips. I like the warmth it brings." She told him.

"Do not drink too much at first. A lady like yourself, unaccustomed to drinking, can become tipsy quite quickly."

That was tempting in itself. She wondered what her father would think if he knew she had let herself become tipsy, even downright inebriated. But she needed her wits about her to speak with Erik, so she sat down her glass.

"Erik." She sighed.

"Yes, Isabella?"

"I recall that you asked me just before Thomas and Elizabeth left this evening if something was bothering me, you know, beyond that of Lady Wentworth's insult."

"Yes, I did. You replied that everything was fine."

"That was not entirely true. Something was, well, is, on my mind. It's about Lady Wentworth, she told me something about _you_ tonight…"

Erik leaned in closer and sat down his own glass, "She always has something to say about me. What was it this time?"

"It was rumor, mind you. At least, that's what she tried to convince me of. But she said you were not really a Marquis, not by birth anyway. She said you purchased your title, paid a member of government for it." She informed him, then held her breath, anticipating an angry response.

Instead, Erik began laughing. Isabella, of course had grown to adore the sound of his laughter, even if it was confusing that he would be so amused at that time.

"What do you find funny?"

"I do apologize for my outburst. But, Lady Wentworth, she is such a gossip. I am sure she could not wait to get you alone to tell you such a fable."

"So she is wrong." That was a relief.

He smiled and looked down at her, noting her disapproving scowl, "Yes, she is wrong."

"I see." She waited for him to possibly explain further, but he didn't, so she continued, "I know it is none of my business, but how did…"

"My father was French, but my mother was English." He burst out abruptly.

Now he'd done it. Opened himself up for more questions. No doubt she would eventually ask why he was no longer in France. _Keep talking, just keep talking, perhaps she won't ask at all_, he told himself.

"Father was the Marquis de Rochfort. I was born and raised in a small village called Rouen, which is just outside Paris. My mother had the title of Marchioness of Longhaven, a title which she inherited from some distant relative with no children or others to take it over. She'd had it since she was a teenager, just before she met my father and she chose to move with him and live in France. The home and grounds," he gestured around him, "were pretty much in ruins by the time I came here ten years ago. I have taken the time and care to restore it, little by little."

This was, by far, the most Erik had ever opened up to her about himself. Isabella was reveling in it, desperate to hear more.

"How did you come by it and why is it not Longhaven anymore?"

Indeed, as he'd thought, she _was_ asking questions, but he thanked the stars above, it was innocent ones. Ones he could answer, ones he would answer.

"My mother passed away about fifteen years ago. As her eldest child and only son, I inherited her title. When I ca…came…" he stammered, fighting to think of a quick lie, "…came here to start my business with Thomas, I took over the estate."

Isabella noticed the stammer right away, yet everything was going much too well to spoil it by asking why. Instead, she chose to let him reveal all he wanted, then another time, she could make more in-depth inquiries.

"And the name?"

"This is a small area, Isabella. The name of Longhaven had, for many years before my mother inherited, been known as an overbearing, tyrannical family. At one time, they ran a mill near here. I heard that they ran it with such cruelty that the workers eventually revolted. Soldiers were called in and…well, more than half of the workers were killed in the waylay. Of course, it did not stop the Longhavens. Those who survived were severely punished and had their pays cut so dramatically, many of them starved."

Isabella gasped, "Heavens! Why did they not seek other work?"

"At that time, there was no other work." He answered.

"But surely, there had to be something…" she started to reply, then stopped. No, she knew little of the country she now lived in, and certainly far less of its history. Erik was right, they probably didn't have anything else to turn to. "No, I suppose there was not."

"So you see, I did not wish for that to be my reputation simply because I had the bloodline. So I changed the name to simply Haven in hopes of starting fresh."

"That does make sense. A most intriguing story, thank you for telling it to me."

"Quid pro quo, my lovely wife. Your turn."

Isabella wasn't sure what stunned her more, him wanting to know something about her, or him calling her his _lovely wife_. Especially considering there was no one around to hear it but themselves, so it was not for show.

"What would you like to know?" she found herself asking rather coyly.

"I wish to know about your first husband."

She sucked in a breath. That was unexpected, to say the least. She'd all but forgotten his curiosity regarding Lawrence while riding in the carriage on their way back from Thomas' home.

Erik noted her expression change and thought better of his question, "If you would rather not, I understand."

Yes, somehow, she felt he truly would understand. Remembering back, she knew he could tell she was sad when she spoke of Lawrence that night and he never asked anything else. He must have really wanted to know about him. She might as well put her feelings aside and open up, just as Erik had.

"Lawrence and I met at a cotillion in Wilmington. I was eighteen, he was nineteen." She began.

"A cotillion." Erik furrowed his brow. "Like a debutante ball?"

"Yes. Although we were not considered upper class enough to have one thrown just in my honor, my father's business partner, Arthur Brolen, was quite wealthy and he threw a cotillion for the young ladies of Wilmington, in his daughter's honor. I was invited."

"So your husband was the son of your father's business partner."

"Yes. Lawrence was being primed, as the eldest son, to take over his father's share of the lumber mill. He had a presence, even at such a young age. I remember…" she said wistfully, "…I thought he was so handsome that first moment I laid eyes on him. We had met before, mind you, but it had been years ago when we were much younger children. I think I loved him even then, but I was sure he didn't notice me. Yet, he came right over to me, spoke my name and I knew that he had. After that, we danced all the dances together and spent the evening on the veranda sipping tea, far away from everyone else."

"Sounds like a most magical night."

"Yes, most magical." She smiled and Erik could see a certain lightness in her eyes.

"And you were soon married."

"Yes, we were married four months later."

"And how…if you don't mind me asking…did he die?" he took the chance to ask, and was distressed to see that same light die just as quickly as it had been born.

In a way, Isabella did mind, minded very much. Yet, in another, she didn't mind at all. In truth, she'd told no one outside of Delaware just how Lawrence died, not even Elizabeth. Maybe it was this moment, this very moment that she was waiting on.

She inhaled to gather her courage, "He died in a terrible accident at the mill. A log cutting machine, you know, one they used to shape the wood into lumber, malfunctioned one busy afternoon. Shut the production down flat. Lawrence, he was so good at mechanics, he went in to repair it, but something went wrong. While his arm was inside the mechanism, it started up and it…it…" she turned away sharply.

"Can you continue?"

She waved her hand, "Yes, I am sorry. It, umm, severed his arm off at the shoulder. He bled to death before they could get him to the doctor."

Erik's eyes closed slowly. "Horrible way to die. I am so sorry."

Isabella nodded, seeing he was genuine in his sympathy. "We had only been married two years. But, I do say, they were a wonderfully happy two years. I try to focus on that rather than the manner in which he left me."

"And his death caused you to seek an education?"

"He'd always promised me that once he took over the mill, he would make sure I could become a teacher. It was something I'd always wanted to do after realizing at a young age just how uneducated many people were, simply because there was no one to teach them. Lawrence would have taken over Hawkins-Brolen Mills that next year, but alas…" she sighed, "Mr. Brolen, kind man he is, he knew of the arrangement and after Lawrence's death, paid my way through college."

"How kind of him. He must have cared for you a great deal."

"He did, and still does. He and my father are very close. Although, I'm sure Father didn't tell Mr. Brolen of him betting the lumber mill, or his intention that he would have bought out his shares with his winnings. Sometimes, I simply don't know his mind."

"He had his reasons, I'm sure."

She nodded. "Perhaps it doesn't matter now. I've made it clear to Father that I no longer wish to be on speaking terms."

Erik looked down, sad to see the relationship between a father and daughter dissipate. "I would hope, in time, you would forgive him."

"Why?"

"Because," he tried to say, but could only shrug, "he sent you here…"

"Yes, he did. What does that have to do with…?"

"Isabella?"

"Yes, Erik?"

"Do you like it here?"

"Like it?"

"Yes. We did get off on a terrible note, but you have been here almost eight days now. Surely, you have formed an opinion."

"I do like it here, Erik. The estate is beautiful, your staff is most efficient and now, very dedicated to making me feel as if I belong. Elizabeth and Thomas have been indispensable. I never thought I would ever find such open and accepting people as they are."

"No, that is not exactly what I meant. I mean…you hold such animosity towards your father for sending you here, as if it was some sort of terrible punishment for you. Do you still wish to go home?"

"Home?"

"Yes. If you could, if I told you that tomorrow, you could pack up and go home, would you?"

The question threw her off balance. Go home? Was he trying to say she could leave? Now that it was put to her that way, a conflict arose. Would she truly go? The answer was easier than she first imagined.

"Honestly, yes, I believe I would go home. Not because I dislike it here, but because I simply miss my mother. You see, I got my first letter from her earlier today. I knew the mail could take time to get here, but I'd been waiting so long for it. She's so strong, but I could tell she missed me. With my brother so far away as well, she feels she has no one left. My heart breaks for her."

Erik couldn't speak another word. Of course, stupid question to ask of a young woman who had only been at Haven a week. She did miss her mother, who Louis had told him was a most gracious woman. She even took the time to make him feel at home, still knowing he was there to take her daughter away. Yes, Isabella would go home. It made sense, yet it still stung. In a small, far away part of his mind, he'd hoped she would stay of her own free will.

Then again, she almost said she didn't dislike Haven. It was something.

"If I wanted to go home, would you let me?" she held her breath, almost regretting it the moment it came from her mouth.

"Permanently? No." his answer was firm, straightforward.

She swallowed hard. "I see."

He wanted to tell her it was because he couldn't bear the thought of her leaving and never returning. But how could he? How could he make her understand the connection that had begun to form, the bond. He couldn't understand it himself. No, he couldn't make a true marriage with her, not with his demons that haunted him constantly. Yet, he couldn't live with himself if he let her go.

"It would break the agreement, you understand." He told her.

"Yes, of course."

"But, I would not be opposed if you wished to visit your mother. Missing her as you do, it would be rather cruel of me to keep you here, never to see her again."

She perked up at that, "Really? I would be delighted to be able to visit her."

"Good. When the weather turns cooler, so it is more comfortable, I shall arrange passage. You can take Lillian with you."

"Thank you, Erik."

He nodded, thankful for the smile his offer gave.

"Speaking of Lillian, there is one thing I would like to speak to you about, regarding the staff."

His eyes darkened, "Has anyone treated you with disrespect?"

"Oh, nothing like that, I assure you. I just found out that many on your staff can't read."

Erik's brows furrowed, "Yes, I am sure most cannot read. Why is that a concern of yours?"

"Because everyone should have the right to learn to read and write, at least just a little. Don't you agree?"

He shrugged, "I suppose so, although most would never use it for anything, the lower classes scarcely make enough money for food, much less to spend on any education."

"I do understand that, but…well, just earlier today, there was one of your field workers. Gabriel, his name is. He picked up a pot to empty that had been used by the blacksmith, yet he didn't know it was still too hot. There was no sign to warn him, to tell him to empty it later. If there had been and had he read it, he would not have injured himself the way he did."

"I know what happened with Gabriel. If he had been more diligent, he could have felt the heat coming from the pot before even touching it."

"But it is not his usual duty, he might not have thought of that immediately."

"What would have me do, Isabella? Pay the workers' education as well as their wages? I would go broke."

"No, of course not. But you could allow _me_ to teach them, Erik. I'm a teacher, after all. I can teach the adults who wish to read. You have at least fourteen children here at your estate, more than enough for a school house. I had as many back in Delaware."

Erik stiffened immediately, "No, you know you are not to be allowed around the field workers, I had already told you that."

The coldness she'd seen the first day she arrived had returned so fast it almost made her dizzy. Her heart sank.

She quietly, cautiously tried to debate, "I could teach them closer to the house. Even outside, near the kitchen area."

"Where you come from, Isabella, it may be perfectly acceptable to mingle upper and lower classes together, but here, it is not. Your reputation, the reputation of this household, would be ruined by such an act."

"There is no immorality in teaching someone to read. If you are concerned about my safety or well being, Mary Ellen could be nearby or even Jarrod."

He turned from her, his jaw clinching tight, "I will hear no more of this. They have their own duties, as do you."

"Me?" she found her voice raising. She knew better after Lillian had advised never to go against Lord Erik, but she wasn't about to stop now. "What have I been doing here, other than having tea, embroidering, reading, watching the servants clean around me as if I'm an invalid, or playing hostess to a room full of prejudicial, judgmental, snobbish people?"

Erik turned sharply back to her, surprised at her outburst. "You have a duty as my wife and Marchioness of Haven."

"Duty? You know, as well as I do, we are not husband and wife, not in the true sense of the word! So, please, tell me, husband, what kind of _wifely_ duty is that, if you choose not to take me to your bed?"

Silence.

Not just any silence, but an almost deadly hush that fell, the only sound lingering was their exasperated breaths as they stared at one another. He, stunned by her words, she, stunned she spoke them in the first place.

"Take care, wife, or you will find I can make you fulfill that duty without another moment's pause." Erik's eyes darkened, almost ravishing her body from afar. His voice dropped to such a level that it made Isabella swallow hard.

She lowered her head, studying him through half closed eyes, "An empty threat or you would have taken me by now." Her voice was soft and quiet. To her surprise, she appeared to be almost daring him to do just that. She couldn't understand it, but she knew if he did, she wouldn't fight it.

Instead, Erik slowly stood, the physical toll on his body becoming too much. He had to leave, escape to the solitude of his room. It was no empty threat. He wanted her, now. Wanted her with a fire he had not felt for any woman, even his mistresses, in more than ten years. It was that fire that threatened to unravel him, to cause him to do something, take something from Isabella that he would later regret. Yes, he desired his new wife, but not like this, not now in such a cloud of contemptuous anger.

Looking down, observing his wife's smoldering gaze, he cupped her cheek, stroking her lip with his thumb just slightly before twisting a wavy ringlet of her blonde hair in his fingers.

"Retire to your room this night, wife and bolt your door against my so-called empty threat."

He then turned from her, taking one of the lit candles and walked out of the library, leaving her in stunned silence.

And when she finally returned to her own room, as per his instruction, she did indeed bolt her door.

* * *

A/N: I hope this is all starting to come together for everyone now. I'm a couple of chapters ahead and things are going to begin getting quite interesting. Thanks for the reviews, I truly appreciate them! Keep reading and reviewing:) 


	11. Chapter 11 Nightmares and Music

Haven

Chapter Eleven:

_She ran down the street just as fast as she could, pushing past the people on the busy street left and right. Already, she could hear the cries of the workers running from the mill, hollering for someone, anyone, to fetch the doctor even faster. She made it behind the tall gate that enclosed the large lumber mill and tried to run into the cutting shop itself, where she knew he was, but was stopped abruptly by her father._

"_Isabella, no!" she could hear him yell at her, but with all her adrenaline fueled strength, she pushed past him and ran headlong toward the chaotic voices that grew louder and louder with each step._

_She burst through the doors and the scene before her caused her alarming pause. There were people gathered around the center of the large room, full of running machinery, yet no one manned them. The noise was deafening, but it was the blood she remembered most. The blood that surrounded the workers, covered them in speckled crimson dots as they tried to stop her frantic search for her husband. _

_It was just a tiny scratch. She told herself as she came closer and closer. All this fuss for nothing but a small cut. A deep laceration at the most, right? A wound that could require stitches..._

_But she was wrong. _

_Being held back by a couple of the stronger workers, she could see Lawrence lying on the floor in an even deeper pool of the red, noxious liquid. His father, Arthur, was screaming, panic stricken as he held a large rag over his son's open wound where the arm once was, but even that did little to stop the flow. Lawrence's face was pale, his eyes closing._

"_Lawrence!" she cried and that forced the young man to open his eyes._

"_Bella…" his voice softly called out and he weakly raised his other hand to her._

_She ran to him, dropping to her knees, the blood instantly seeping into the white material of her gown, staining it a dull pink. She neither noticed, nor cared._

"_You shouldn't be here, my Bella…go home…"_

"_No, I'm staying, it's going to be alright, the doctor will be here soon!" she whispered, holding his head in her lap. She stroked his forehead lovingly._

"_No time…Doctor not back yet." He uttered, his breathing becoming shallower by the second. _

_Indeed he spoke the truth. Doctor Brennen had been away almost a full day, assisting a midwife in a difficult birth in the next county. It would take him a good hour to return at the earliest. Not nearly enough time to help. He knew it, everyone around him knew it, but they were trying not to give up hope for a miracle._

"_Just hold on, hold on for me!" Again, she begged._

"_Tell Mother I love her, Father." He told Arthur, "Be strong for her and the girls."_

_All the man could do was nod, tears streaming down his cheeks and Isabella swore the poor man had aged fifteen years in just a few short minutes._

_Then she felt him reach up and touch her cheek and utter softly, "I love you, Isabella Rose Brolen."_

"_I love you, Lawrence William Brolen. Just be brave a little longer, help is coming." She kissed his cheek, but already she could feel his skin growing cold, clammy to the touch. _

"_I love you…love….you…"_

_His eyes closed and almost instantly his hand went limp in hers. She could feel his spirit leave his body with his last raspy breath, but she wouldn't let herself believe it._

"_No!" she cried helplessly as she heard the horrible wail of his father as he began to grieve for his dead son. "He's not gone, he's just resting, sleeping."_

"_Isabella, let us leave." Simon finally ran inside and tried to take her by the shoulders, but she wouldn't budge. She wouldn't dare leave him._

"_No, father, I can't let him lay here, he's my husband!"_

_They tried to take him away, to bundle his body for transport to the undertaker and again, she cried over and over in her father's arms, "No! He's not dead, he's not dead!"_

A pounding.

"Isabella!"

"_Don't leave me, please don't leave me!"_

A loud slam, then another, then a crash…

"Isabella!"

"_Don't take him away! Lawrence, no!"_

"Wake up, Isabella, wake up!"

She screamed as two strong hands gripped her out of the dark nightmare. The image of her father was gone and now it was Erik who was holding her back as they took Lawrence away.

"No, no!"

"Wake up, you are safe, I am here." Erik shook her slightly, seeing the daze still on her face, although her eyes were now open. "Look at me… look at me."

Isabella gasped as the dreadful images suddenly vanished like a windswept fog. Wide eyed and panting, she looked around the room to see everything illuminated in orange. There was no mill, no workers and no blood.

Only the sunrise.

"Isabella?" Erik asked, touching her cheek.

"Oh…Erik…" she suddenly whispered, hoarse voiced, as recollection washed over her. She fell into his arms and began to sob.

Erik held her trembling body to his as tight as he could, smoothing her sweat-soaked hair, "You are safe, it was just a nightmare, it is all gone now."

"I had not dreamed of that day in so long, why did I do it now?" she panted and fought her tears, but still clung to Erik's smoking jacket.

"Could be the brandy, but I believe it is because you spoke of your Lawrence for the first time in many years to anyone outside of your home. It brought up old memories." He answered softly in her hair.

"There was so much blood everywhere. I never thought I'd get over the sight of it." She whispered.

"Oh, sweet lady, why did you not tell me you witnessed the young man dying?"

She slowly pulled from him and looked into his concerned eyes with her own tear-soaked ones. "I tried to forget it for so long. I tried to find the words to tell you last night, but they just wouldn't come."

He wiped her tears away with his thumb and could only offer a small smile as consolation for her terrible tragedy.

She looked around the room and was shocked to see her door wide open, the top half clear off the hinges. Her hand flew to her mouth, "What happened?"

He turned quickly to view the damage he'd done then laughed amusingly at his overzealousness.

"I heard your screaming from down the hall. When I tried to get inside, it was locked, so since I did not know if you were in distress or not, I kicked down the door. Only then did I hear you call the young man's name and realize you were dreaming."

"I'd bolted my door, as you requested before you left the library." She reminded him.

Oh yes, that.

"Yes, you did indeed bolt it quite sufficiently. Well…"

Momentarily, they both let go of one another and Isabella pulled the covers up around her, suddenly aware that she was only in her shift. And even more aware that Erik wore no shirt under his smoking jacket. It was hanging wide open. She surmised he must have just thrown it on before running into her room.

"Isabella." Erik tried to get her to look his way, but her eyes had suddenly focused on the edges of his scars that ran from his neck down in front of his shoulder.

"I mean, that is what you wanted, for me to bolt my door. You told me…" she said softly, almost transfixed on the red lines that marred his otherwise smooth looking skin.

"Yes, it was, but you must understand, in my state, I…"

"And a wife does as she's told, am I right?"

"Yes, most do, but that is not the point, you see, what I am trying to say…"

"Far be it from me, to disobey my husband."

"Isabella!"

She gasped and looked straight into his eyes.

Now that he had her undivided attention, he softened his voice, "What I am trying to say is that I regret my actions of last night. I had no right to forbid you the way that I did. Ever since you have been here, you have seen fit to abide my wishes, whether or not you understood or agreed. I know you wished for more of an explanation as to why I did not wish you to be around the workers."

"Would it have been so difficult to do just that?"

"Yes, I fear that it would have." He replied, "I cannot explain, but…" he looked away, ashamed of himself. There would be no way for her to understand his reasonings, not without knowing the full story.

"Erik? You can tell me anything. Do you feel your workers would treat me badly? If that is the case, I can assure you, they have not. At least the ones I've seen around the kitchen. They are always kind and respectful."

"I am glad for it, but that is not my concern."

"Then what?" she leaned in closer in hopes of coaxing it out of him.

He shrugged and let out a breath, "I hope it does not offend you if I simply say that past circumstances have forced me into a decision as this and I just cannot answer more than that. Just know that I am sorry for the way I spoke to you, the things that I said. I was not a gentleman."

"I accept your apology, Erik..." She signed in resignation, "…and now, I feel I must apologize as well. I should never have insinuated that you have not taken me to your bed out of weakness. It has been most gentlemanly of you that you have kept your distance. I provoked something from inside you that a lady should never do. I hope that you forgive my actions. I tend to…well…lash out when I am told to do something so bluntly."

"You have a great fire inside you, my Lady. I admire it and I hope you do not change just for the sake of propriety. It is one of the first things I noticed about you. The way you admonished me for not attending to you immediately upon your arrival. You did indeed put me in my place and no one, except Elizabeth has come close to that."

"Somehow, I do not feel as if you have needed much admonishment in the etiquette department. You have shown yourself to be a gentleman indeed, despite the, well, the first few slip ups."

He laughed very softly, "You were a most unexpected surprise here, so you must give pardon and understand how a man would forget his manners in your presence."

She smiled at such a compliment, unable to answer with spoken words.

But it was enough for Erik.

"May I ask something else?"

"Anything."

"Had I truly needed the bolt on my door last night?"

A smirk crawled over his face and she needed no other answer, but she wanted to hear him say it.

"I was not immune to the closeness we shared last night. I had promised you that the next woman I took to my bed would be you and I have every intention to keep that promise. So, as you were in a state of undress…" he inhaled deeply before continuing, "…it made it difficult to remain on a cordial basis."

"So you contemplated, after we retired?"

"I stood at your door, Isabella. I stood for nearly twenty minutes, listening to you sleeping soundly. As you can see by the condition of your door this morning, if I had wished to take you by force, the bolts would not have kept me away.

She sucked in a short breath.

"But I am not a man who enjoys taking a woman in such a manner. When the time is right, we will know one another and I hope by that time, it will be of mutual decision."

"Thank you. I can't ask for more than that from you."

"But, as the sun is rising and I know you wish to sleep more before starting your day, I shall tell you what I had planned to tell you at breakfast." He smiled, knowing his news would make her most pleased.

"And that would be?"

"That if you wish to teach the children here to read and write, you may do so with my blessing."

Her eyes widened, "What? You do?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I'm so pleased you have changed your mind, you will see how beneficial it is for everyone. And what of the adults?"

"I will speak with Jarrod about asking the adults. Those who wish it may attend, as long as it does not interfere with their duties. I want no less work done. I hope that is agreeable."

"Yes, very agreeable, again, thank you. But, Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you change your mind? You do know that I'm very aware that, as my husband, you _can_ say no and I have little say in the matter."

He looked at her, his amber eyes almost glowing, the same color as the sunrise, "Yes, I do know. That is why I changed my mind. You gave a good argument and yet, I said no without really listening to it, or giving you a fair chance. I agree that it would only benefit the workers, especially the children, to learn to read. And I feel it would benefit you as well."

"Yes, it would. I would feel a sort of purpose here, beyond that of just being a wife and Marchioness of Haven. I miss teaching so much."

Instinctively, as the night before, he took her hand in his. He simply couldn't go another second without doing so, "I know that you do, especially being taken away from it so abruptly. I only ask that you keep close to the house to teach. As I said earlier, I have my reasons. I have no problem with you being around the children, but limit yourself to the men."

Isabella nodded. "I can't presume to understand your reasons behind it, but I respect and agree to it."

"There is an older building that was the old kitchen area. It is no longer used. I will instruct Dùghall and a few of the other men to clean it and prepare it for you. Make a list of what books and materials you might need and I shall have them fetched immediately."

She smiled at him and he swore that it was probably the largest smile she'd shown yet.

"I know I shall need tablets, pens and chalk, a larger chalkboard for myself to write on, some very basic level reading books. A few benches for the children to sit on. I know you can get all these things in London. When I was there with Elizabeth there was a school supply store that had everything…"

"I know the place and it will be done." He chuckled at her exuberance.

"But Erik, you said people would talk. What will you do about that?"

"Quite frankly, my lady, I no longer care what they think. Besides, it does not hurt oneself to be a bit, as you might say, revolutionary."

She gasped, then began to laugh and very quickly, Erik joined her.

But the laughter died down and all that remained were two people sitting on one bed, close together. A woman dressed in barely anything, hair running down her back and encasing her rosy cheeks. And a man, who desired her for all that and more.

Once more, his hand stroked that very rosy cheek as his eyes glided over her, not bothering to avoid that which was just barely covered by the shift. He could see the silhouette of what lied behind the thin material, raising and lowering with each breath and his own breath shuddered inward and sighed outward.

"Isabella, I have to confess…"

"Well, good morning, Mum, you are up earlier than I thought…" Lillian started to speak from the door, then gasped at the broken hinges, then a second time at seeing Erik sitting on the edge of Isabella's bed. She saw his hand on her cheek, clutched at the towels in her arms and cried, "Oh my heavens, I am so sorry!"

Both Isabella and Erik coughed at the awkwardness of being caught in such a position.

"Don't be sorry, Lillian. Erik and I were just talking." Isabella assured her, but inside, she felt like slapping her for interrupting.

"Mary Ellen informed me you wished to sleep in late, so I was just going to come in quietly and leave towels for your bath later." She bowed at the sight of Erik staring at her.

"Leave them, then inform Teresa to summon Mister Godard to instruct a couple of workers to come repair Lady Isabella's door." Erik said. His voice was stern, but not angry, very much like it was before he'd met the American man, Lillian silently observed. She was thankful for it, considering how she'd caught the two of them. She couldn't wait to tell Mary Ellen and Teresa. She knew they'd be as thrilled as she was.

"Yes, my Lord, of course."

"Then inform Mister Godard I wish to see him outside about some work I want him to do for Lady Isabella," Erik said, then decided just as quickly that it was time he left the room. He was thankful for the interruption, only in that it stopped him from something he knew he wasn't ready for. Yet, leaving Isabella in that state was the hardest thing he knew he would ever do.

"No, do not bother, I shall go find him myself." He stood and walked hastily to the door.

"Erik?" Isabella called out to him, her eyes searching his. What on earth did he want to tell her and why would he leave before saying it?

"If you do not wish to go back to sleep, I shall see you at breakfast in an hour?" he replied to her ever so gently, then nodded to Lillian before leaving the room.

Neither woman spoke for a few long seconds, not until they heard Erik's heavy footsteps on the staircase.

"Oh my, that was rather intense, I say." Lillian finally said, almost to the point of sheer elation. "Did you see the way he looked at you just now?"

"Yes, I did." Her eyes stayed glued on the unhinged door, wishing she'd seen for herself the strength it must have taken to knock it down like that.

"I can tell you, I have not seen Lord Erik look that way at anyone, at least not since I have been here, my lady."

"What kind of look would you say it was?"

"I daresay it was a look of deep admiration, Mum. Perhaps even more than that, I feel." Lillian whispered, not sure if her assessment was stepping over bounds.

"They way Mister Godard looks at you?" Isabella grinned.

Lillian blushed quickly, "I would not know, Mum."

"And Lord Erik hasn't looked at any other lady this way?"

"None, Mum."

"I see." She scratched her head. That man was truly an enigma.

"What happened to your door, Mum, if you do not mind me asking?"

Isabella laughed and tried to blow it off, "Oh nothing terribly serious, I assure you. I simply had a nightmare and I'd bolted the door, so he had to break it down to make sure I was alright." She realized just how bizarre that all sounded, especially since Lillian knew she never bolted her door. "Don't ask why I bolted it, it's a long story."

"Of course, Mum. It was a good thing that Mary Ellen and I were already in the kitchen long before sunrise this morning. If we had heard such a racket, jumped out of our very skins, we would have."

A second passed as Isabella fiddled with the lace on her shift.

"He's not even looked at his mistresses with such an impassioned expression?" she finally asked the maid.

Lillian smiled, "No, Mum, just you." Then she walked into the bathroom, leaving Isabella alone to contemplate those last words.

…_just you. _

* * *

"_No!" The large porcelain vase flew across the room. "I loved you, I gave you everything I had!" Erik screamed as it crashed against the wall, narrowly missing the young woman's firey auburn haired head._

_She squealed in fear and ducked, "Are you insane? You almost killed me!"_

"_I am insane! Insane to believe I ever loved you, to believe you ever loved me! I gave you my life, I gave you my music!" he shook a leather bound book at her. "Now, only to find out, you were just using me!"_

"_It is not my fault that you were too stupid to realize what my purpose was, who I really loved. You, talking of sunsets and sonnets, love, happiness, children," the young woman spat at him, "it blinded you to the truth. We are from two different worlds, Erik. I am not part of your stuffy, overbearing aristocratic society. I loathe it, I loathe your Father, your family, I loathe you!"_

_Erik screamed, running at her, his hand raised, prepared to strike her down for insulting his family._

_But instead, he was stopped by a strong young man who came seemingly out of nowhere. He held a sword out in front of him, the young woman behind him and growled at his former Master._

"_Touch her and die!"_

Erik stood silently inside the quiet room in the late afternoon, almost hollow in its large, empty space, it housed only one item.

A grand piano.

He stared down at it, its sleek, black finish now covered by so much dust from years of neglect that one would swear it was gray. It was all that was left of his former life, his former existence and he guarded it as if it was the crown jewels that sat on the head of the Queen herself. Given to him by his parents when he was a young child, he couldn't part with it and he'd sworn to himself that he would never play it again.

Until now.

He'd come so close to messing up everything. He cursed through clinched teeth as his fist pounded down on the black lacquered wood, sending the dust flying in all directions. How could he have been so foolish? There she was, sitting on the bed, looking radiant, flushed cheeked and he couldn't stop himself, he just had to touch her. He was going to tell her that she was so beautiful, more beautiful than any woman he'd ever seen. He was going to start spouting those words men say to young women to court them, to confess their love. In one large leap of faith, he was going to tell her everything and hope to the gods above that she would understand.

But, thankfully, they were interrupted.

"Bloody hell, you are a fool…" he growled at himself, "You know what will happen if you let yourself fall in love with this woman. Worst yet, what will happen if she finds out what you did…"

He knew that to be the truth, which was exactly why he'd chosen to harden himself the way he did before Isabella's arrival. He'd hoped she was rather plain, a true old maid in the sense of the word, perhaps cold and aloof in her own way. He'd prayed perhaps she was not delicate and feminine or was not a true lady, as he would find her less appealing and go on about his business. But that was not to be.

Now, as he feared he might, just as before, he'd let himself become lost in a woman's touch, a woman's body and it led to heartache and ultimately, tragedy. No, never again. He couldn't do that, not to Isabella.

But he needed immediate sexual fulfillment and for the first time in many years, had no one to satisfy it. He'd already sent word to Carlene, the last remaining mistress, that her services were no longer required. That plainly meant no Rebecca, no Carlene, and definitely no Isabella.

All that was left was his music.

If he couldn't yet fulfill his desire for his wife by physical means, he would pour it out through the dusty ivory keys of his beloved piano.

And that is exactly what he did.

* * *

Mary Ellen walked into the foyer, finding Lillian standing in the center, close to the dining room. She was frozen in place, almost catatonic.

"When is Lady Isabella expected back from Lady Cather's home?"

She got no response.

"Lillian?" she approached her, "Girl, what is wrong with you?"

"Shhh…" Lillian whispered, "Do you hear that?"

The older maid paused, but only a moment as she was impatient to finish her daily chores. She scoffed, "I do not hear anything, now get…" then she stopped speaking abruptly.

Indeed, she could hear something. Was that music? Yes, the music of a piano. An intensely driven, thundering aria. It was muffled, but she could hear enough to feel the enthusiasm, the sheer raw power behind it.

"You are hearing it, aren't you?" Lillian turned to Mary Ellen, reading her dumbfounded expression. "See, I told you. Where is it coming from?"

"I do not know. In all the years I have been here, I have never heard music being played. There is no piano anywhere in the house, Lord Erik forbade it."

"Perhaps it is in the ballroom."

"When would Lord Erik have had time to have a piano delivered to the ballroom since last night?"

Lillian shrugged, out of suggestions.

"And besides, I did not even know Lord Erik played."

"But Lord Erik is not here!" the young maid gasped.

"Do not be silly, child, Mister Godard brought Lord Erik home early today, so of course it is he who must be playing. I know Lady Isabella does not play, none of us do. Lord Erik is the only one in the house, besides us and Jarrod."

"Someone called my name?" Jarrod asked both women as he came into the foyer, holding a small pot of hot tea on a small tray.

Both women turned around to him, their faces stoic.

"My, what has you both so perplexed this late in the day?"

"Listen." Mary Ellen told him, pulling anxiously at his arm sleeve.

"Listen to what?" he asked them.

"That I know you can hear that music." Lillian urged him, almost begging him wordlessly to confirm what they both heard.

"You have been in and out of the foyer all day, surely you have heard it." Lillian added.

But, Jarrod didn't need to listen or confirm. It was Erik. He had been playing like that, with that same, deep fervor for more than two hours since Lady Isabella left for Lady Jane Burrow's home for tea. Erik had promised him he would be gone by the time she returned, but as lost as he had become in his music, Jarrod wasn't sure he would be able to pull away. Now, he was just hoping he would simply tire and leave the room before Lillian and Mary Ellen returned from helping Teresa in the kitchen. But by the sound he heard from upstairs, he was nowhere close to exhaustion. Now, he would have to get Lillian and Mary Ellen out of the house. He couldn't risk discovery.

"I do not hear anything." He lied to the women.

"You have to hear it, Jarrod. I know your ears are bad, old man, but you cannot miss something so beautiful, so passionately inspired. I daresay it is the most striking piece of music I have ever heard. Do you not agree, Lillian?"

Nothing came from the young maid except a long, shuddering sigh. Her eyes were closed and she rocked back and forth, seemingly in a trance.

Jarrod popped the girl's shoulder. "You two are hearing things. Go back outside, the new schoolhouse needs some cleaning before Lady Isabella can start using it tomorrow. I have to take Lord Erik some tea to his bedroom."

"But Jarrod, surely you can hear…" Lillian tried to plead with him, but to no avail.

Jarrod had already started up the staircase, then turned to the right on the second floor to head towards Erik's bedroom. Again, he called down, "Go back to work!"

"If you say you do not hear anything, very well…" Mary Ellen grabbed Lillian and dragged her out of the foyer.

"I hear it and I know you do, too!" Lillian cried, hating to be taken away from it before it ended. But it was too late, Mary Ellen already had her out of the house.

Only then did Jarrod leave the hallway outside Erik's bedroom, walk up to the third floor and open the door to the mysterious room.

"My Lord, you must stop now…" was all he said before shutting the door behind him.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the great, supportive reviews, especially for last chapter. The chapter lengths are rather large, at least so far, so that's something people seem to like. A little friendly note as well...for those who might be waiting or hoping, Raoul and Christine are NOT in this story, not at all. Since its an alternate storyline from the typical Phantom, they were never going to be part of it. The only character from Phantom is Erik and he's not even the typical Phantom. I'm very sorry if that disappoints anyone, but it needed to be said. :) 


	12. Chapter 12 Life and Loss

Haven

Chapter Twelve:

_17 October 1889_

_Dearest Mother,_

_Thank you so much for your last several letters! I feel so ashamed that my last letter to you was nearly a month ago, but I have been so busy teaching, that I find I have little time to write when I wish. I hope you will forgive me and I resolve to be more diligent. _

_Such wonderful news to hear that Jackson and the family are coming home to help out with the mill! Yes, such an unexpected decision, but I agree, we should never look a gift horse in the mouth. It will be wonderful to have some young children around you on Christmas this year, as well. My, how I'm sure they've grown in the years of their absence. Please give them my best wishes for a safe journey._

_As for my travel home to see you, as I said in my last letter from mid September, Erik is waiting for cooler weather to return before booking passage. The weather has been simply dreadful since the turn of September with constant rain, so constant that the fields have almost flooded. I expressed concern for the crops, but was told by Erik that this wasn't unusual and the workers have it under control. The last couple of days, however, have turned much cooler and I've taken to wearing a heavier shawl during the mid day walks. I will be sure to ask Erik once again if he's ready to make plans in the next couple of days. He says he'll book the RMS Umbria, which he assures me is a much more luxurious ship for my comfort. The only drawback is that at this point, it only sails out of Liverpool, but the upside is that I get to take the train there instead of the longer carriage ride. I was relieved that he chose not to book the Great Eastern again as I found it to be quite uncomfortable, but he tells me that the ship is no longer in commission. Such a blessing, wouldn't you say?_

_The teaching has already been a rewarding experience. As I told you previously, I began with fourteen children, but that now has lessened to eleven, as three of the oldest children have been taken to work in the fields. They were the most eager students, so I have hope that they will continue their lessons, even if they have to work most of the day. The other children are very intelligent and follow their lessons without protest, always seemingly willing to learn new ideas and they wish to please me. I don't teach the whole day, but only a half day for the children. The second half of the day, I devote to teaching the adult staff to read. Well, only Lillian and Teresa to start, and they can only come to lessons if they've finished their housework, Erik's orders. I hope the rest of the field workers will decide to join in soon._

_Socially, I recently had the privilege of visiting the newly opened Savoy Hotel, which is next door to the Savoy Theatre. I already had a most wonderful time attending the theatre's production of The Merryman and his Maid a couple of weeks ago and as Erik's position allowed him privilege to attend the opening of the Hotel, I didn't want to miss such an opportunity. It is so beautiful, Mother, that words can't do it justice, so I have included a newspaper article from London with my letter to show you. I know you will be as impressed with the architectural design and beauty of it as I was. I fear I actually gawked at the sight of it, for I heard Erik laugh at me under his breath._

_As for Erik, things are quite pleasant between us. We take our meals together and our conversations have transpired beyond that of simple, trivial matters. I have learned many things about France and he has promised to take me to Paris when his work has lessened at the office, then on to Rouen, where he was born and raised. I truly look forward to that. He asks me daily how the teaching is progressing and he confesses that he's seen some of the children out by the river, reading their lesson books to one another and he seems to be very proud at that. I know that I am._

_Nothing else has transpired intimately past what I'd told you in my last letter, but it was to be expected after his behavior towards me the evening I returned from Lady Jane's home. I didn't tell you this part because I simply didn't know how to deal with it, but he told me at our dinner meal that he was sorry for touching my cheek the way he had, that he had taken a liberty which had not been granted him and it wouldn't happen again. And I can say he has stayed true to his word. Also something else happened that I found quite bizarre. I was awakened in the middle of the night that night to hear what I swore then and swear to you now, was the sound of a piano being played. It was distant and a bit muffled from where I laid, but it was quite intoxicating. So much so, that I found myself rising out of the bed to find its source. But as I opened the door to my bedroom, the sound abruptly stopped. As I was so sleepy, the next morning I had convinced myself it was a dream and mentioned it to Lillian only in passing. But to my surprise, Lillian said she'd heard it that afternoon while I was at tea with Elizabeth at Lady Jane's home. This is definitely a new turn of events, although at this time, I'm still unsure how to proceed._

_Yet, despite the lack of intimate physical contact, Erik has not turned cold as he once was, quite the contrary. His behavior towards the staff has been most fair and cordial and tension has lessened considerably, I've observed. He walks the grounds daily in the late evening, something Lillian tells me he used to do quite often. He checks in with Mister Godard and in his inspections, he can address each and every member of the field workers by their first names. There are almost one hundred of them!_

_But the best part of my day is, ironically, at the end of it. Before I retire, I always go to the library to tell Erik. No matter what he's doing, he's seen fit to walk me to my room and he kisses my hand to bid me goodnight. He was even bold as to kiss my cheek once, but it appeared as if it made him uncomfortable somehow and he has not made that move since. It was the first time his lips had ever come remotely close to mine and I'm sure I gasped. Perhaps he took the gesture wrong, but no matter, I still feel a bit disappointed that he hasn't tried again, but I take great care not to let it show._

_I miss you too and I will have to much more to tell you in person when I see you again. Don't worry for me; I'm becoming more and more accustomed to my life here. I love the staff and I feel that they care greatly for me. Elizabeth, Jane and I are always doing something enjoyable together, from embroidery to horseback riding and even taking in a game or two of cricket. And next month, we're going to even start taking archery lessons from one of Thomas' associates! Plus, England is quite charming, despite the rain. I have yet to see the green fade and the leaves are now beginning to turn some color with the coming fall. It is a lovely sight. _

_I was sorry to hear that Father has not been feeling well lately. Overworking himself again, I suspect, but then again, you always tell him to slow down. He never listens. I suppose I should say to give him my regards, but I simply can't. I hope you understand, Mother, no matter how much I'm growing fond of living here, I can't forgive him for forcing me into this decision the way he did. If he'd just brought me here first, let me meet everyone…well, I can't dwell on it. But, no matter, I do hope he feels better soon._

_I must end this letter so I may give it to Mister Godard for delivery. I plan to speak to Erik this morning at breakfast about purchasing some new linen, so that I can make a new gown to wear home for my visit. The new sewing machine he brought home for me a month ago is begging to be used once again. Please let me know when Jackson arrives, I know you will be so happy to have him home with you. I love you, Mother, please take care of yourself._

_Love,_

_Belle_

"Breakfast was delicious, Teresa." Isabella said as she laid her napkin down on the table and smiled at the relief on the face of the cook.

"I found the recipe and with my new reading skills, I tried to get through most of it, but I must confess, my lady, Mary Ellen helped me." Teresa replied, taking the dishes from the table.

Erik wiped his mouth and seconded the compliment, "No matter, you did very well, Teresa. I had not had crepes in a few years, it was an excellent choice."

"You must know that Lord Erik is sincere, it's the first time I've ever seen him eat anything except a croissant with his coffee." She smirked.

"Are you saying I'm predictable, my lady?"

"Umm…why, yes."

Laying down his napkin and feigning offense, he slowly stood up, "Just to prove you wrong, I shall do something else I have not done very often…"

He came to her and leaned down. For a short moment, Isabella hoped it would be to kiss her on the cheek again, but instead, he took her hand, kissed it then whispered in her ear, "…I will visit with the field workers before going into London."

"My, I do say this is a day for firsts!" she exclaimed, trying to hide her disappointment.

"I will go into London afterwards, then on my way home, if you wish, I shall pick up the bolt of linen you had requested."

"Thank you, very kind of you to remember that, it was something I hadn't spoken about since last week."

"Yes, and I apologize that I made you wait so long. I hope you will have plenty of time to make a new gown or two with it."

"I should have plenty of time, after all, you have not decided on a time for me to travel home."

"On the contrary, my Lady. If you so desire, I will secure your passage for the Umbria and you can be in Wilmington by the first of November."

She gasped. So soon! Indeed, she had best get to making her gowns. Perhaps Elizabeth would assist her. She looked up at Erik as once more he kissed her hand, not needing a reply to know she was quite satisfied with his surprise, "Good day to you, Isabella."

"Good day, Erik."

"I say, my lady, Lord Erik has been so happy these past few weeks." Teresa whispered once she was sure Erik was far enough away to speak freely, "Whatever you are doing to keep him in good spirits, please continue." She smiled, then winked as she held the chair for Isabella to stand.

Before she left, she turned to Teresa and looked at her gathered up the dishes. "I wish I knew what I _was_ doing," she replied, "because, like you, I wish it would continue."

* * *

"Lillian? Where is Mister Godard now?" Isabella asked as she walked out of the dining room and headed towards the small room next to it that Erik had set up for her to do her embroidery. She knew, considering they had been taking time to meet secretly during the day, that she would know where the young man was.

"He is outside in the carriage, waiting for Lord Erik to finish speaking with the workers, Mum. Shall I fetch him for you?" Lillian answered. She put down her rag and stood from where she was polishing the cherry wood banister.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, "No, just give him this. It's a list of supplies for the school house I've run out of. He said he'd pick them up for me when he took Lord Erik to the office today."

"Of course…oh!" Lillian almost jumped out of her skin. "I had forgotten! This came for you about an hour ago, special delivery. Mister Godard wanted to make sure you got it quickly." She pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it to Isabella.

"Thank you." She said softly, looking over the unusual envelope. Not from her mother, that was for sure, as her mother didn't use such stark white paper, nor would she feel the need to have something sent expedited. "This is unusual."

"Yes, not the usual paper your Mother writes on, I see."

"You're correct, this is definitely not from her."

"Then who is it from, Mum?"

She looked at the name scribbled on the back and squinted to read the slightly smeared words.

_From: Mister Arthur Brolen, Wilmington, Delaware, United States of America_

"Mr. Brolen!" she gasped. "How wonderful of him to write me!"

"Who is that, Mum?"

"My father's business partner in the mill."

"I see. Never written you, has he?"

She shook her head, "No, and I never expected him to. I hope things are alright at the mill. Perhaps he's writing to tell me of his youngest daughter's formal engagement. Before I left, Charlene was being courted by a young man from Boston. It was no secret that they would be wed before Christmas."

"I suppose you shall open it up to find out, Mum."

Isabella looked at the letter with excitement and headed toward the parlor, but turned back to Lillian, "Give my list to Mister Godard now, I shall be in the parlor reading Mister Brolen's letter."

"Yes, Mum. Would you like some tea brought to you?"

"Yes, thank you, Lillian."

* * *

"How many of the horses were shod on the last visit from the blacksmith?" Erik asked Gabriel as he stood at the entrance to the stables, jacket over his arm and mud splattered on the cuffs of his trousers. The long rains had stopped, yet the ground was still muddy, but he wanted to see his stock of six stallions. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ridden. He missed them and he was sure they missed him.

"Yes, my Lord. The blacksmith came yesterday. Four were shod, the other two were well enough to keep until next month since they are not ridden as often. I took special attention to make sure Lady Isabella's favorite horse's back left leg was tended to, she had informed Mister Godard that Blackstar seemed to favor that leg on her last ride.

"Yes, she told me as well. Was it remedied?"

"Yes, my Lord, the new shoe seemed to take care of the problem immediately."

"Good, I will be sure to let her know that she can resume riding him when she wishes."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Has the mare folded yet?" he pointed to the end stall.

"Not yet, my Lord, but she is due any day now. Shall someone come for you when she does?"

"Of course. Mister Godard always does."

"Very well, my Lord." Gabriel sighed. It was rare that the young man was around during Lord Erik's tour, that was typically Mister Godard's job, but as he was attending to the carriage, he'd turned the job over to him.

Erik understood and patted him on the arm, "Good job. Now, if there is nothing else, I must change my trousers before going…"

"Lord Erik!" the frantic voice of Dùghall could be heard all the way from the side of the house causing Erik to stop in mid sentence.

"My Lord, where are you?"

"I am coming!" Erik ran up the small, cobblestone path to meet him next to one of the servant's quarters. When he reached him, he could see the worried look on his face.

"What is it Dùghall?"

"Lord Erik, you must come to the house, quickly!" he answered, his voice almost frantic.

"Calm down, tell me what has happened." Erik's voice rose but trying to still remain composed.

"It is Lady Isabella…."

His eyes suddenly darkened, "What about her, has she become ill?"

"Yes! Well, no, not exactly. We do not know for sure, my Lord. Lillian called out to me to find you, she said Lady Isabella has suffered some sort of shock, but neither her nor Mary Ellen can find out what." He said, breathless.

"A shock?"

"Yes, and they said she has not spoken, except only to ask for you, quite insistently."

Erik needed to hear no more. Isabella was in distress and he wasn't going to allow another second to go by.

"Come!" Erik told Dùghall and both men ran for the house as fast as they could.

"My lady, please speak to me…please." Mary Ellen continued to beg, patting Isabella on the arm.

Isabella just stared out the parlor window, her face and lips such a sickly pallor that she looked washed out. Her eyes were red, yet no tears fell from them. Her voice was soft and all she was saying was one word…

Erik.

"Lord Erik is on his way, I sent Mister Godard for him, Mum," Lillian assured her with a pat to her shoulder, but inside, she was nervous. She glanced at Mary Ellen and both maids shrugged.

"Isabella!"

Mary Ellen stood and called out, "In here, my Lord!"

Erik ran into the parlor, "Where….", then stopped as he saw Isabella sitting in the chair, her face turned away from him, unmoving. It was almost as if she had turned to stone. Normally, seeing anyone, especially someone as vibrant as Isabella in such an unusual state would cause him anxiety, but there was little time to be nervous. She'd called his name, wanted _him_ and he was going to be there to help her, to be strong no matter how weary he might become inside.

"Isabella, what has happened?"

He got no response.

"She has called for you now for at least ten minutes, my Lord." Mary Ellen told him as he made his way to her.

"Does anyone know what she was doing just before?" he asked both women.

"My Lord, she received the letter just after the two of you parted after breakfast and was most excited about it, so she came in here to read. When I came in to offer her some tea about ten minutes later, I found her like this. She would not speak to me at all." Lillian told him.

Mary Ellen added, "Lillian fetched me, saying Lady Isabella had turned ill, so I came in to see her and she would not speak to me, either. I touched her shoulder and all she said was she wanted to see you. Over and over again, my Lord."

"That is when Lillian ran out to the carriage to tell me to find you, my Lord." Dùghall said. He was standing at the entrance to the parlor and both Lillian and Mary Ellen gasped, knowing Lord Erik would be angry finding him there. Lillian tried to gently shoo him away but he ignored her.

"Dùghall, take the carriage, go to Thomas' home, inform them of what is happening, then go for a doctor." Erik instructed, not seeming to care that the young man was inside the house when he was strictly forbidden.

"Yes, my Lord." Dùghall answered, then quickly exited the house to the relief of Lillian.

"Isabella, speak to me, please." He walked up to her chair. Slowly, he went to his knees and touched her hands, noticing a letter clutched in her shaking fingers. It must be the letter Lillian was referring to, he silently surmised. Curious at to why the contents had made her so upset, he tried to take it.

"No!" Isabella suddenly cried out, grasping at the paper, "I said I want Erik!" Her head flew around and Erik could see her eyes were wide, almost panic stricken. It reminded him of the night she had her terrible nightmare.

"Isabella, it _is_ Erik…do you hear me?" He touched her cheek. "Do you see me? Do you feel me touching you?"

Instead, she began slapping at his hands, desperate to get him away from the letter, "Let it go, Jarrod!"

"Jarrod?" Erik asked Mary Ellen as she held tight to Isabella's flailing hands.

"He was here earlier trying to get her to speak. He tried to get the letter and she responded similarly. He has gone now to get some brandy for her. He said it would help her snap to herself." She answered him, growing more and more upset at her lady's behavior.

"Isabella, stop fighting and look at me!" he gripped her shoulders tight, his voice firm and loud.

The forcefulness in his voice made her jump and seemed to do the trick.

"Erik? Is that you?" she asked and it appeared as if she was beginning to speak much more lucidly than before, although somewhat timidly. Some color even began to return to her cheeks.

"Yes, my lady." He sighed in relief, "What has happened, please tell me so I may help you."

It was only then that the tears began to fall from her eyes. Her lips quivered and her shoulders slumped. She handed over the letter, placing it into Erik's strong hands as if it was some sort of secret document she wanted no one else to see. With a shaky voice, just barely a whisper, she finally spoke the words that up until that point her heart didn't want her to say. It would make it too real, too final.

"My father is dead."

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry that this chapter is a bit shorter than the others have been, but it helps to set up everything for the next one. I had initially had this with another chapter, but it would have been way too much for just one chapter, so I ended up splitting it. Thanks again for the reviews and I hope to have another chapter up next week. :) 


	13. Chapter 13 Revelation and Recovery

Haven

Chapter Thirteen:

"How is she, Doctor Layton?" Erik asked, practically knocking over the man the second he came out of the parlor. Erik had been pacing the foyer for fifteen minutes since the doctor had arrived and neither Thomas, nor Jarrod could convince him to sit down.

All he could do was think back to those words she'd said to him.

_My father is dead._

_He heard both Lillian and Mary Ellen gasp behind him and even his own eyes closed in surprise. _

"_Mister Hawkins, dead?" he asked her, almost sure he'd heard it wrong._

"_Yes, died in his sleep, and… oh, Erik, I…" Isabella then collapsed into his arms and began to sob inconsolably. All he could do was hold her, thankful that he was there to do so. Had he gone to London, she would have been like this for some time until he could be told and return to help her. That thought upset him more than he could let anyone know. As he held her against his chest, he found his own tears forming. Not so much for Hawkins himself, the foolish man that he was, but for his wife's pain, knowing they never had a chance to reconcile their differences, although, in many ways, he was also grateful to Simon Hawkins. After all, if not for him, there would not be a wife to hold. _

_He stood and tried moving Isabella to the couch nearby, but she was too weak to walk, so he lifted her up in his arms and carried her there himself, so he could let her lie down until the doctor's arrival. She resisted and kept her arms tight around his neck, so instead, he sat with her on his lap, allowing her to bury her face in his shirt collar as he gently rubbed her back and kissed her forehead. _

Only when the doctor arrived did Erik reluctantly let go of her.

He could still see her face as he left, silently begging him to stay, her arms still reaching out…

"She is going to be fine, Lord Haven." Doctor Layton assured him with a pat on his shoulder. "A sudden shock such as this causes a momentary episode of stress induced catatonia, but it subsides. She is lying down now and Her Grace is by her side. She is talking pleasantly and answered my questions with no difficulty."

"May I go in?"

"Whenever you wish." He answered.

Erik shook the doctor's hand, "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"Fortunately, I was not that far away, your young driver spotted my carriage leaving Holloway Garden and called out to me. I would have been almost halfway to Portsmouth otherwise."

"Fate works in wondrous ways sometimes," Thomas laughed, offering his own hand to the doctor. "We appreciate you taking such good care of our Isabella."

"She is a fine lady. I am terribly sorry for her loss." Doctor Layton said.

"Your carriage is still outside, allow Jarrod to walk you to it with an umbrella, as it has began to rain again." Erik told the older man, waving towards Jarrod.

The butler ran over with the umbrella, "This way, Doctor."

"Call me if her condition does not improve in a couple of days or worsens. The grieving process takes time. I am not familiar with her religious upbringing, but I suggest calling in a minister to counsel her. If she has any more problems, I will return and give her some mild sedatives."

"I will do that, thank you again, Doctor."

The front door shut and, finally, Erik sunk into a chair by the staircase.

"Are you not going to go see Isabella?" Thomas asked, coming up behind him and sitting down on the bottom step.

"Yes, but I wish to compose myself first." He answered.

"Most understandable. It is difficult to see one you care about be so upset, must be very hard for you especially, my friend."

"How so?"

"Caring for Isabella as much as you do, yet not being able to show it. Always being mindful not to cross the line between simple friendly regard and outright husbandly affection. I can imagine it has truly put you to the test, am I right?"

The man couldn't be more correct in his assessment. 

Erik ran his hands through his hair, mentally exhausted, "She held to me as if I were her only lifeline. Her body, that is so normally strong, suddenly felt weak and fragile in my arms. I felt her tears trickle inside my shirt and down my chest. Her sobs vibrated me from the inside out and I could feel her sorrow so deep that I almost wanted to cry myself. She did not wish for me to leave her and, at that moment, I would have killed for her if she had bid me."

"Of course, it is only natural to feel that way when a man adores a woman as you do her." 

Slowly, Erik turned to face his friend, "How did you know, Thomas?"

"I have always known, so has Elizabeth. We saw it at the dinner reception, we saw it at the theatre and especially at the opening of the Savoy. You have gone far beyond just acting as husband and wife for the sake of public scrutiny, Erik. You are in love with Isabella. You have to admit it, not just to yourself but to her."

"Never." He stiffened. "No matter what I feel for her, she cannot know it."

"For heaven's sake, why? She is perfect for you. Not only does she have the lovely grace and poise of a fine English lady, but she has the drive, determination and intelligence of many men our equal. I know she feels something for you as well. Yet, you will never know unless you tell her your own feelings."

"No, Thomas." Erik's voice rose slightly and with it, his panic. No, not again. He had tried so hard over the past weeks to keep his distance, be cordial, friendly, but nothing more. He'd failed and now the inevitable has happened.

"I know you've had a bad past. Yes, what happened with Sabine was tragic, but it has been ten years, it is time to move on from it. You don't have to let it cloud your thinking now. Isabella is not Sabine, so please, just consider revealing the truth. Put your faith in her." He pleaded.

He was right and Erik knew it, even if just in his heart. Sabine de L'Ardene, a red haired goddess, was Erik's only world for two years, yet in its bliss, always seemed like longer. She had drive, ambition, passion and an appetite for the finer things in life…things only Erik could, and happily did, provide her. Yet, beneath all that, she held a secret, a secret that all but destroyed his heart and nearly cost him his life.

"I do not know, I…" he shrugged helplessly. He just couldn't let Isabella in, not after what happened with Sabine.

"Word had already spread throughout all the staff, they are anxious to hear of Lady Isabella's condition." Dùghall said, coming into the foyer from the hallway. "I saw the doctor leave, how is she, my Lord?"

Erik stood to greet the young man, "She is fine now. She is inside the parlor lying down, Lady Elizabeth is with her." 

Dùghall's breath left him along with the tension that he'd been holding. 

"I will take her up to her room soon for further rest as I decide what to do next."

"You will book passage for her to go home immediately, right?" Thomas asked him.

"The letter from Mister Brolen stated that by the time she arrived the funeral would have already taken place, so not to worry about arriving in time for that and to just keep her appointed visitation she had promised her mother before. He said that the brother, Jackson, was already there, had arrived a few days before Mister Hawkins' death and he was taking good care of Missus Hawkins. So, I am sure, by the time this letter arrived here, Mister Hawkins had already been buried."

"Strange. To have a funeral so quickly, not waiting for her return? A wake itself could take as long as five days. Surely he could have been held in wait until after. This is all so sudden. If Mister Hawkins was in poor health before, they could have called for her return much earlier."

"Yes, but we do not know that for sure. Remember, we are dealing with Americans. Their practices may be very different from ours, Thomas. Still, I shall make sure she has a passage aboard the ship as soon as she wishes to travel."

"In any event, I am glad to hear she is well and so will the staff. If you will excuse me, I will go inform them, they have gathered at the field kitchen to wait word." Dùghall began to leave, but Erik stopped him by his arm.

"Wait."

"Yes, my Lord?" He asked, but could tell by the look on his Master's face what it was. It suddenly became clear. He was in the house and had been since returning with the doctor. He began to apologize, but braced himself for whatever punishment he might receive.

"About earlier…" Erik started.

"My Lord, I must beg for forgiveness for my breach of the rules. I lost myself in the moment. I promise, I shall never step foot inside again…"

"Stop, Dùghall." Erik let go of his arm. "You are not in trouble."

"I am not?"

"No. Actually, I have been doing some thinking. I feel perhaps I have been rather stern in regards to this rule. You have been nothing but a loyal, hard working employee and today with your diligent help in regards to the lady of this house has proven it even more. Whatever prejudice I once bore for you has now subsided. You are more than welcome to come into the house as the other staff does, through the kitchen. And on colder days, you may wait in the foyer for me instead outside in the carriage. You may use the fire in the sitting room to warm yourself."

Dùghall's mouth gaped open in surprise and even Thomas himself was shocked at what he'd just heard. Could it be that just Isabella's presence has changed Erik's thinking in regards to not only Dùghall, but the staff as a whole? Yes, but he knew it was more than that, much more. He silently thanked her.

"Thank you, my Lord. I am grateful to you."

"It is I who should be grateful for your years of service and to beg your pardon for my behavior."

"Please, my Lord, I will consider the matter over if you will."

Erik offered his hand, "Done."

"Done." Dùghall shook it, honored to do so. "Now, I shall go inform the staff. I assume you will not be going into London today?"

"No, I will remain here with Lady Isabella. Thomas will make my excuses and take care of business."

"Of course. But before I forget, I met a special courier outside the house just after the doctor's arrival. He had something for you, but with the excitement, I put it in my pocket." He pulled out an envelope and handed it to Erik. "Will that be all, my Lord?" 

"Yes, for now. Take the rest of the day to yourself once you have finished your pressing duties."

He smiled brightly and nodded to both Erik and Thomas, "Again, thank you, my Lord. Good day to you, your Grace."

Once Dùghall left the foyer, Erik examined the envelope, then momentarily went quiet.

"Erik, who is it from?" Thomas asked him. "You look as if it is from a ghost."

"Perhaps you are correct, my friend," Erik answered him, his voice distant, "it is from Simon Hawkins."

* * *

"Owww…this stuff is foul!" Isabella exclaimed as, once more, Elizabeth held the snifter of brandy to her lips. She'd already taken two sips and it was two sips too many.

"You heard the doctor, you need to drink this to relax." Elizabeth smiled down at her. 

Finally, Isabella took one more small sip and grimaced at it burned her throat on the way down. "There. No more, please." She practically begged.

"Fine, no more." Elizabeth sat down the snifter and took her friend's hand. "How are you feeling now?"

"Horrible."

"I mean physically, dear."

"Oh, that. Better."

"Good. The other will work itself out in time." 

Isabella could only nod, thankful for Elizabeth's attempt at consolation, but she had no idea how she felt. The Duchess' own parents were still alive and in her life. They have not parted on bad terms and she has never said things to him like she did to her father. Terrible, disrespectful things that now have left her heart being eaten slowly by guilt. She wasn't sure she could get past anytime soon, if at all.

"I don't know if it will, Elizabeth. I said some awful things to Father before I left, determined to hurt him as he'd hurt me. No matter how much Mother told me he missed me, I never responded. I feel like the lowest person on Earth."

"Is that why you reacted the way that you did? Lillian tells me she feared for your well being. That you…"

"Yes, I know. When I read those words from Mister Brolen, it was as if nothing else around me existed anymore. I was in a tunnel of sorts, just…floating away. The only thing that brought me back was Erik. I reached for him as if he was pulling me out a burning pit of fire. I couldn't let him go, even when the doctor told him to leave me. I just couldn't…"

"I know exactly what you mean."

Isabella looked at her closely, "No, I don't think you do. You've never suffered such a shock, both of your parents are still live. I don't mean any disrespect, you might be able to understand, but you certainly can't_know_."

Elizabeth inched closer and leaned down to her friend, "You think because I have not lost my parents that I have not suffered deep loss? No, you are wrong." She coughed and her face turned sad, "About five years ago, I lost my brother in a terrible accident."

Isabella slowly sat up, "I didn't know you had a brother."

"Because we typically do not speak of him. My mother finds it too painful."

"What happened?"

"George." She sighed wistfully, "He was my younger brother. He was sixteen. One day, he came to visit Thomas and me so he could spend the day riding. We had a wonderful day. Later that afternoon, he decided to ride again and chose to go alone. Nothing new really, he was a humble sort and chose not to tell anyone, feeling he did not need to bother the staff for an escort. George was a fine rider, but he must have decided to explore part of the estate that he had not previously. We are unsure exactly what happened, but he did not return for dinner. Thomas, myself and our servants scoured the estate for hours. I, unfortunately, was the one who found him. He was lying on the ground, bleeding from the head, a bloody rock nearby. The horse was wandering around by the lake. Thomas surmised that perhaps the horse spooked and threw him off, or maybe he tried to jump the large log that went across the water, who knows. All we could tell was that he had been dead for quite some time, there was nothing we could do to save him."

"Oh my goodness, Elizabeth, how awful." Isabella whispered, taking her hand. She felt completely embarrassed at her earlier appraisal.

"Anyway…" Elizabeth took a deep breath and straightened her back, "My point is, I was told that all I did was scream and scream, but I do not remember. To me, it was as if I was viewing everything out of my body. Thomas was there and he held me and I clung to him as if letting him go would cause me to sink into a great hole of despair from which I would never return. I still remember how it felt for him to hold me like that, his arms around me so strong, his voice whispering comforting words. In my deepest grief, I never felt so safe or loved. So you see, Isabella, I do know how you feel."

"That _is_ exactly how I felt, Elizabeth." She felt almost elated, "You just described every feeling much more eloquently than I could have. Erik was so strong, warm and comforting. I did feel safe and I think for the first time…"

"Yes?"

"I think I was grateful to be here. Grateful that, in my time of need, he was there with me. Had I been home, my grief would have been put aside as I helped Mother. There would have been no one for me to lean on. Jackson? Yes, he would have been there, sure, but he would have enough of a time comforting his own family. Friends? I have many friends, but I don't know if even they would have been enough. But as fate would have it, I was here and in Erik's arms. I felt as if I could let it all out and he would take it away. It is a wonderful feeling.

"That is called love, dear."

Isabella stared at her, frozen. 

"You cannot say I am wrong." Elizabeth smiled.

"_Love_? I do not…do you really believe that I…?"

"You are answering your own question, you do realize that."

Isabella snorted, "Stop being so reasonable."

"And so right?" Elizabeth jested, playfully patting her arm.

"Yes," Isabella sighed, "and so right."

* * *

"Well, what does it say?" Thomas asked Erik after giving him a couple of minutes to read Simon Hawkins' letter in peace. While he waited, he sat pensively, examining the envelope.

_To: Lord Erik Renault, Haven Manor, Wimbledon, England_

_From: Mister Simon Hawkins, Wilmington, Delaware, United States of America_

Then, printed in small letters on the inside flap:

_Important: Do not open until the notification of my death._

"Excellent timing, old man…" he muttered softly to himself.

"I will be damned." Erik finally responded a couple of minutes later. He gritted his teeth so that every word was emphasized.

"Tell me." Thomas prompted.

"Hawkins, that crafty bastard…he knew all along that he was dying."

"What?"

"He knew when he came here, when he gambled the mill. He said he took the risk so that he could buy out Mister Brolen and ensure that not only his wife would be taken care of, but that his son, Jackson, would have a future. He said he took the risk, never expecting to lose to cheaters."

"My God. You know, when he told me of the cheating at the game, I subscribed him a sore loser and never believed him."

"Nor did I, but perhaps it was true after all. I mean, why would he lie in his own death confession?" Erik shrugged, waving the paper in the air, "Then he goes on to say that it was a twist of fate that he found my interest in Isabella. It was a blessing in his opinion because he could not only have the money he lost, but also he could ensure that Isabella would be taken care of. He knew she would never take it upon herself to marry and leave her mother behind if he died. He did not want her to give up her chance for a husband and children."

"And here we both thought the man selfish and uncaring of his family's welfare." Thomas shook his head. 

"We were too hasty in our assessment of the man's character and now we cannot even beg his pardon in our error. Yet for all that, he says he knew what everyone must have thought of him and he understands and holds no bad will towards anyone."

"Are you going to give the letter to Isabella?"

"No." Erik quickly answered. "There is a small, separately sealed envelope that is addressed specifically to her, so I will let her read that. As for my part, I will tell her of the contents only, but the letter was meant for me…" then he handed the letter to Thomas, "but I would like you to read the last paragraph and you shall see why."

Thomas took it in his hand, cleared his throat and read outloud, "My wife was never aware, but I had been reading the letters that Belle had been sending to her. I know she blames me for her fate and will probably never forgive me, but I also know what she has said about you. She speaks of you in high regard now, so I feel as if the two of you are getting along. I know it was a business arrangement, Lord Erik, but as you have now seen by getting to know my Belle, she is such an amazing woman. No man in his right mind, would not fall in love with her. Not just her beauty, but her spirit. I saw something in you at our meetings that told me you were a lonely soul who was simply waiting for just the right woman to come along and bring light, joy and happiness into your life. Belle is doing just that, I suspect. All I hope for now, as I prepare to leave this world, is that you treat her with respect, treasure her and, in time, grow to love her. I don't need her forgiveness, I know she loves me and I also know that I made the right decision. You are a fine man and I wish you both much happiness in the years to come. Sincerely, Simon Hawkins."

Quietly, Thomas placed the letter into the envelope and handed it back to Erik. "I can see how you would not wish for Isabella to see that."

"Especially when the man is right."

"Indeed."

Erik let out a long, lingering breath and looked out the window at the rain filled sky. Foolish man? No, he'd completely misjudged Simon Hawkins. He risked it all to ensure his family would be taken care of after his death. Well, no matter what, he would see that the Hawkins family would have all the money they needed, even if Isabella left him. His heart froze and he thought hard. Isabella. With her father gone, would she demand to go home now? A tinge of panic surfaced. He couldn't hold her here, the agreement was essentially broken by Simon Hawkins death. Could it really be he might really lose her?

"I need to check on her." He turned to Thomas.

"Of course. I shall wait out here for Elizabeth, then take her home. Be sure to call on us if you need."

He walked over to Thomas and shook his hand, "Thank you, my friend."

"I will take care of the office, stay with her as long as you need to."

Thomas watched Erik walk inside the parlor and only when the door shut that he sat down and whispered to himself, "Oh my…"

* * *

A/N: This chapter and the next will be a bit shorter due to the it being easier to read this way. Thank you all again, those who take the time to review. I appreciate that I have some regular readers:) Keep reading, still plenty more coming!


	14. Chapter 14 A Brief Stolen Moment

Quick A/N: Sorry, another shorter chapter...they won't all be shorter, I assure you. Hopefully its worth it! :) Thanks again for the wonderful reviews, please keep them coming, I assure you I read every one of them. Until next time...

* * *

Haven

Chapter Fourteen:

"It appears as if someone is much better." Erik spoke from the door as it shut behind him, observing the giggles coming from Isabella and Elizabeth from the couch.

"Erik." Isabella gasped, not out of surprise, but out of sheer delight to see him. If she wasn't so tired from her earlier crying jag, she was sure she would have jumped up and ran into his arms.

"Am I interrupting?" he kept his distance, standing in the shadows, arms behind his back.

"Of course not, please come in and sit down." Elizabeth instructed as she stood. "Is Thomas still outside?"

"Yes," Erik answered as he approached the couch. He kept his eyes on Isabella but spoke to Elizabeth, "He is waiting for you in the foyer."

"Good, then I shall take my leave of both of you."

"Thank you for being here, Elizabeth, I appreciate it." Isabella took her hand gratefully.

"That is what friends do, is it not?" she smiled at Isabella, then at Erik. "Let me know if you need me again. If not, I shall return to check on you tomorrow morning."

"Thank you," Erik took her other hand and kissed it. "You are a wonderful lady, but you already know that."

Elizabeth walked to the door and put her hand on the knob, before turning back to Erik, "Yes, I do know that. High time you said it." She said with a kind but jovial smile.

Both Erik and Isabella laughed as the door clicked shut behind her.

"How are you feeling?" Erik asked his wife, observing that the full rosy color had returned to her cheeks and her eyes were much brighter.

"Embarrassed." She laughed nervously, looking down momentarily as she tugged at the ribbon of her gown, crinkled no doubt from lying on the couch in her state of distress. "I must have made such a spectacle of myself."

Erik went to her and quickly sat down, "Embarrassed? You suffered a great shock, Isabella; you have done nothing to be embarrassed about."

"In the past few years since Lawrence died, I'd prided myself on being calm and mature in emotional situations. I never imagined I would act in such a manner."

"You have never lost a parent before. No one can say how one will act in such a circumstance, not until it happens."

She looked up at him, their eyes finally meeting.

"Just the same, I feel very bad that I frightened everyone."

"Do you remember anything?"

"Yes and no," she laughed once more just for a moment, "As I was telling Elizabeth, I felt as if I was spiraling down some deep, dark tunnel. I was barely aware of what I was doing or thinking…"

"But you did call for me." Erik interrupted, "That showed you were still in touch with reality.

"Yes, I did. That was all I could think to do."

"Why?"

She paused, studying his eyes and trying to understand his question.

"Why did you call for me in such a moment of distress? You could have called for Lillian or Mary Ellen. Most likely Elizabeth. The two of you are very close and…"

"But you are my husband, Erik." She answered quickly as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Both of them went calmly quiet.

"Yes, I am…but as you have said, in name only."

"Yes, I did say that. But, for reasons I can't explain, I just needed you."

"I was glad to be here for you."

She nodded, then asked, "Do you still have Mister Brolen's letter?"

"Yes, in my pocket. When I take you to your room to rest, I will place it on your writing desk. I assume you would like to write to your Mother when you are able."

"Oh yes, I would. Strange, she eluded to my father's ill health in her last letter and I…" she inhaled, feeling her tears forming again, "I only told her that I wished he would feel better, but I didn't offer any other words, nothing to him directly at all. I feel so horrible."

"He understood your reasons, Isabella." He reached out and took her hand in his, still feeling it shaking and delicate.

"He couldn't have. I was awful to him! I never told you the terrible words I said to him before I came here. I told him I was only doing this for mother. I told mother in my letters that I had nothing to say to him, ever." her voice cracked. "I had even told myself that I wouldn't speak one word to him when I went home to visit. Now…" she panted, gripping Erik's hand hard, "he's not even going to be alive when I visit. My father has gone to his grave believing I didn't love him!"

On instinct, he moved closer and pulled her into his arms once more. She cried softly, but her deep, mournful sobs appeared to be behind her. "I have something that came today that might help ease your mind." He told her as he stroked her hair.

She sniffled, "What?"

"A letter came addressed to me. It was from your father."

Instantly, she raised her head and looked at him, tears still streaming for her soft eyes. "From Father? What did it say?"

"He said quite a bit, but the bottom line is, he knew of his impending death for quite some time."

"He knew he was dying? For how long?"

"Probably close to eight months."

"So he was preparing for his…oh!" It all became clear to her, everything he'd done, everything he'd said, his odd behavior before and especially after returning from England. "It all makes sense, Erik. The gambling. Father had played poker before, but never for such high stakes. Yes, I was aware that he would often join in games and wager some of the mill's profits and although I didn't approve, honestly he never bet more than he could afford to lose. It explains the sudden need for the extra money. He was saving up so that mother could have a nest egg when he died."

"He intended to buy out Mister Brolen so he could secure the mill for Jackson to run."

"Jackson. Is that why he came home early? Did he know about father's poor health?"

"Your father did not allude to it. My guess from reading it was that your brother's homecoming was because your Father had informed him of his plans to retire. Your father had intended to leave the mill in a trust for him. He would not have done that if Jackson was going to come home on purpose."

"May I read it?"

"Do not be offended, my lady, but no. It was for my eyes, but…" Erik pulled out the sealed envelope from his pocket, "He did send you this." He placed it in Isabella's hand, holding it tight.

"For me." She said softly.

"Yes. I'll leave you alone so you may read it." He began to stand, but felt Isabella's hand grip his arm.

"Please don't leave, Erik. I'd…" her pleading eyes spoke volumes.

"You would rather not be alone right now?"

"Yes, if you don't mind."

"If you are sure, no, I don't mind at all." He settled back down next to her.

"Yes, I'm very sure." She answered, then broke the seal of the envelope. She pulled out the white paper, smiled at the fancy scripted _Hawkins-Brolen Lumber Mill_ letterhead and took a hitching breath of courage.

_My darling Belle,_

_The reason you are reading this now is that you have learned of my death. As I told your husband in my letter to him, I had known for quite sometime that this was going to happen. It was a brain tumor, you see. I know you recall the terrible headaches I was suffering from during the Spring, don't you? The doctor told me there was nothing that could be done except remain comfortable and get my affairs in order. That is why I went to England in such haste as I did. Darling, it may not be something you can ever understand until you have children of your own, but everything I did was for you, Jackson and your mother. To tell you the reasons then, you would have never wished for me to go, nor would she. You both would have insisted you had enough money to survive, but I know that was not the truth. Arthur, the dear friend, he took care of your education after Lawrence died. I just couldn't have him step in to take care of all of you after my death. We did have debts, debts I didn't want my lovely wife to have hanging over her head. This way, I could pay them off and she could live worry free._

_As for Lord Erik, he was just a bonus, at least in my opinion. When he offered to take you as a wife in exchange for the money, it was if a light shone across a dark sky, an answer to a prayer. I had looked into trying to find you a suitable husband in Wilmington, but I knew you would object strongly. I know you wanted to marry again for love, just as you did with Lawrence, but you were so devoted to your teaching, you hardly socialized, paid any calls or took calls from eligible young men. I had to do what I felt was right for you to be taken care of. I knew, upon hearing of my death, that Jackson would come home and he would look after your mother. But, as I have just learned that he is now returning here on his own, I'm terribly relieved that she will not be alone to care for me as my health deteriorates. If you had been here, my lovely daughter, you would have committed yourself to your Mother's care if I had not sent you away._

_My funeral has already been arranged accordingly. Mister Brolen is taking care of everything so your mother is not burdened. I am skipping the typical long period of wake, knowing it would take you at least two weeks to return home anyway. Therefore, the funeral will take place three days after my death. Arthur has assured me that you will be notified as quickly as possible._

_I know you will mourn for me, my darling. I know you will feel guilty over the words that were said as you were leaving the port in New York. But, I tell you now, don't let that eat away at your heart. I know you love me as I love you. We had a special bond all your life and a few short months of animosity can't kill true love between a father and daughter. I forgive you for your angry words as I hope and pray you forgive me for my deception and understand my reasons. All I can hope for is that you are happy in your new life in England and you remember me as the father you once loved, not the father that you left behind. Take care my Belle and look to the stars, find our favorite one and that's where I will be._

_With my undying adoration,_

_Your loving father._

Isabella slowly dropped the letter into her lap, her expression so stony, that Erik couldn't tell her exact emotions.

"Just when I thought I truly hated him."

"Yes, I feel I misjudged him as well."

"He's right, you know. If he'd told us beforehand what he'd intended to do, both Mother and I would have protested strongly. We could have survived on meager means and been perfectly happy doing so. Mother would have cared for him without ever batting an eyelash. Mister Brolen could've helped out. But no, Father always hated burdening others. Even in his dying days, he couldn't reach out to anyone. How he must have suffered, the pain he was in, physically and mentally."

Erik took her hand and lifted her chin so he could see her eyes, "I believe he was at peace with his decision. He told me so in his letter to me. He knew, no matter what you felt for him, that he made the right choice in sending you here. He was thinking of nothing but your happiness and well being."

"But he could've told me about you, brought me here to meet you, anything…"

"If he had suggested you coming here to marry me, a strange, and had given you the option, would you have done it?"

"No, I suppose I wouldn't have."

He nodded, looking longingly at her. Even in her grief, she was lovely. His life had changed for the better the moment she set foot in it. For that, regardless of the fact that, because of his own haunted past, he could never have Isabella as a true wife, he still resolved that he would silently thank Simon Hawkins for the privilege of knowing her, every day as long as he lived. He would respect the man's memory by ensuring his daughter had a secure and happy life.

"Erik? Would you hold me again?" Isabella asked, slowly inching closer to him, feeling an overwhelming need to have his arms around her once more.

He didn't allow one second to go by before he took her into his arms, "Oh, dear lady, you should never have to ask that, ever." He felt her sigh, her breath leaving her body and with it, the tension, the anger and the guilt she'd been feeling for so long.

"Did you feel this way after your parents died?" she asked, her voice muffled as her lips were pressed to his neck, close to his scars.

Dangerously close.

Erik felt a shudder rip through his body, but instead, focused on Isabella's question, "Yes, I felt it after my mother died. She had not been ill and her death was quite sudden. We were close, Mother and I and I hurt very much."

"How did she die?"

"She collapsed in her garden, among the bed of her favorite gardenia bushes. The doctors felt it was a stroke."

"I'm so sorry…" Isabella inhaled, then exhaled, the breath rushing across his neck and he felt his skin go gooseflesh. "And your father?"

"My father is not dead."

That caused a small gasp, "He's not? You've never mentioned your father, so I assumed he was also dead. Do the two of you still talk?"

"No. We do not."

"Then how do you know he still lives?"

"I have ways of knowing." He smirked and kissed the top of her head.

"Why don't you just go see him? I could go with you. You did say you would take me to Paris, then on to Rouen. Is he there?" Her arms encircled his torso. She could hear his heart beating fast and feel the heat coming off of his body. The question had suddenly upset him, despite his efforts to control it.

"He's not in Rouen and no, it is not possible to see him."

"Why?"

"Because, my lady, through certain circumstances, I have led him to believe I am dead."

"Oh God!" her head popped up. "For what reason would you do this to him?"

Erik already regretted the answer he gave without forethought. Now came the questions he didn't want to answer. "I cannot explain, it is too long a story, too sorted…" he shook his head fervently and prayed silently that she would let the matter drop.

Isabella instead laid her head back on his shoulder. "It is alright, I'll not ask again. But in time, I hope you can tell me. Believe me, if your father still lives, you should repair whatever happened between the two of you, before it is too late."

"It is much deeper than that, my lady, must deeper." He sighed against her, his hands soothing the small area of exposed skin on her back.

To Isabella, it felt like heaven. His hands were large, firm and strong, but smooth in their caress. On instinct, she lifted her head slightly, again, her lips coming close to his neck, brushing ever so delicately against the red and angry looking streaks of raised skin.

She heard him inhale sharply with a hiss, felt his hands pause on her back.

"Does this hurt?" she asked against his neck.

"No…I just..." he replied very quietly, holding his breath in silent anticipation of her next move.

"How did it happen?" she asked, timidly running one finger down from his jawline, tracing the scar until it disappeared into his shirt, too far for her to continue, at least at that moment.

"I cannot…" Erik could barely form the words he needed. Her touch, the closeness of their bodies together was just too much for him to think clearly.

An anxious knock came to the parlor door, "Lady Isabella? Mum, are you in there?" and both Isabella and Erik jumped straight up, practically leaping off the couch.

Once more, the moment was lost.

Another knock.

"I suppose I should…" Isabella began.

"Come in, Lillian!" Erik called out, backing slowly away from her.

Backing most reluctantly away from her.

Isabella looked at Erik, unsure how to act after their very close encounter. Yet, there was so much she'd wanted to tell him, all she needed was just a few minutes alone to gather herself, time she'd neglected while she was so close to him in the first place.

"I heard from Mister Godard that my Lady was doing…" The young maid flew in the door, then turning exuberant to find her Mistress alert and seemingly in better spirits. "Mum, you had me so worried!"

"I'm fine, Lillian."

Lillian then turned to Erik, "Oh, my Lord, how can I thank you enough for…" in her excitement, she kissed his hand, "thank you, thank you…"

"What are you so thankful for?" Isabella asked her, chuckling at Erik's face as he reacted to the maid's unusual gesture.

"Lord Erik did not tell you, Mum? He has now allowed Mister Godard inside the house!"

Isabella's eyes shot to Erik, "You did?"

"Yes," Erik answered quietly, "I felt I was… mistaken in my assessment of him. He has been allowed the same privileges of the house staff, effective immediately."

Out of Lillian's view, Isabella's fingers entwined with Erik's. She remained in silent awe, grateful for his change of heart, allowing her eyes to speak for her. She knew he would appreciate the gesture more than gushing outwardly, as Lillian had.

"Is that not wonderful news?" Lillian asked her impatiently.

"Most wonderful." She answered softly.

"Then, if you are well, shall I still take you up to bed now, Mum?"

Isabella opened her mouth to answer no, to tell Lillian to go about her duties, that Lord Erik would take her to bed, but before she could….

"Yes, take Lady Isabella to bed and help her into her night clothes. She shall remain there until morning. I am sure by then she will be back to herself." Erik told her quickly then stood up. He kept his eyes glued to his wife as he gently touched her chin.

"Yes, my Lord." Lillian answered him as she came to the couch and took Isabella's arm to help her stand.

Erik headed for the parlor door, but Isabella called out, "Erik?"

He paused in his stride, but kept his back to her, "Yes, my Lady?"

"You will come and sit with me, won't you?"

"Of course, I shall speak to Teresa and arrange to have our lunch together in your room, if that is acceptable."

"That would be perfect."

He nodded and started to turn once more.

"Erik!"

"My lady?"

"Thank you."

This time he turned to face her, "You have nothing to thank me for."

She laughed softly at him, "You know that's not true. You were here for me; you comforted me in a time of terrible shock and grief."

"You called out to me, what did you expect me to do?"

"Ignore my plea…"

Erik visibly scoffed. That was an impossibility.

"…or at the very least had Jarrod call in Elizabeth to help me, but you didn't. In a situation where we have not known each other three months, you went above what most men would have done…"

"I am not most men, dear lady," A smile glided across his lips and just before he left the parlor, he looked at her with a deep affection and said, "I am your husband."

* * *


	15. Chapter 15 Let's Begin Again

Haven

Chapter Fifteen:

Memoirs:

_Four days later, I was at the port in Liverpool, ready to board the boat for New York. I debated within myself all that time whether or not I wanted Erik to go with me. As my husband, I knew I hardly had much say in the matter if he was determined to accompany me, but the issue was soon abandoned after he informed me of an important meeting with the fellow investors at the bank. He said he simply couldn't get away from the duties of his job and the estate for such a long period of time. I can't say whether or not I was disappointed at this, but I was very relieved that I didn't have to make the decision myself. _

_Even as I sit here in recollection, I can still see Erik's face as clear as glass as he stood looking at me before I stepped onboard. Somehow, I felt he did want to go with me and was just waiting for me to show my disappointment in his decision to stay, yet he never said it directly. As he looked down at me, I also felt as if he was saying goodbye for the last time. Perhaps that was the real reason he wanted to go with me, to ensure I'd come back. Honestly, since there was no real agreement left after my father's death, there was no reason for me to stay in England and remain Erik's wife. Duty? Yes. I could've stayed for duty, knowing that a divorce would be a major scandal for him. Annulment could've been another option, as we had not consummated our marriage, but again, that would've come out and people would've known our marriage was a subterfuge. I didn't want to leave Erik with that kind of reputation. But truth be told, at the time I went aboard that ship, it wasn't something I was prepared to make a decision about. All that mattered was returning home and taking care of my family._

_But I never anticipated how much I would miss England until I found myself spouting off about it night after night. I kept a whole room of lady friends simply spellbound with tales of English society. They were enthralled by my descriptions of Elizabeth, Thomas, the staff and even Lady Wentworth. The tales of that woman alone kept them laughing most of the time. But above anything else, they were intrigued by the man who was my husband. The Legendary and Mysterious Marquess of Haven, they called him. He really wasn't a mystery, I tried to explain, but they didn't care to hear the reality. They simply asked question after question and with every answer I gave, it became evident that I was longing to see him, not just correspond with him through the couple of paltry letters I'd written. That, in describing Haven, I was in essence describing not just an estate in England, but more importantly, my home._

_And with that revelation, the lingering issue of whether or not I'd return was quickly resolved._

"Owww…" Isabella groaned as she attempted to sit up in her bed. The knocking on her door sounded as if it was a cannon blast. "Who is it?"

"Mary Ellen, my Lady!"

It was the day after her return to England. The day after the night she spent with Thomas, Elizabeth, Jane and Edward Burrows and Erik celebrating her return. The day after the night she sat in the parlor, drinking the Burrows' fine wine and talking nothing of Wilmington and hearing Elizabeth tell all the latest month's worth of gossip from around the county.

Unfortunately, when she playfully stole a drink of Erik's brandy, the rest of the night became a complete blank.

"Come in." her hoarse voice uttered and again, she held her head at the sound of the bedroom door opening. Everything sounded loud and sharp, hurting her ears and piercing her brain. She could swear that even the light snow she could see falling outside her window was loud.

"Good morning…oh, dear…" Mary Ellen said as she entered. She stopped and looked at her mistress.

Lillian had been dismissed long before the party ended and therefore Isabella had been on her own to come upstairs to bed. Mary Ellen could see one side of her hair, which was still pinned up, completely flattened to her skull, while the other side appeared to a tangled, knotted mess. She wasn't even wearing a shift. It was apparent that she had simply removed her gown and petticoat and fell asleep in her undergarments.

"What?" Isabella asked, seeing Mary Ellen gawking at her. Her tongue felt thick and furry and she turned to her side table to find her water glass empty.

Mary Ellen took the pitcher and filled it for her, "My Lady, someone should have awakened me so I could put you to bed properly."

"What do you mean properly? I know how to put myself to bed, Mary Ellen," she gestured down to her body, "I've been getting ready for bed since…" then took a much harder look at her current state and gasped, "Oh my heavens, what did I do to myself? I'm not even in my nightclothes!"

"No, my Lady." Mary Ellen replied as she walked over and picked up Isabella's gown off the floor as she watched her down the entire glass of water in one shot. She shook out the garment, smelled it, then turned her nose up at the strong smell of liquor. "Brandy?"

"No, of course not, I only drank wine, uh, I think." She groaned, "I can't remember now. Do you remember for sure?"

"No, I retired after my duties last night, but I do remember that you had a wonderful welcoming home party." Mary Ellen smiled amusingly.

"Apparently too good. What time is it?"

"Ten minutes past nine o'clock, my Lady."

"Nine o'clock!" she exclaimed, then whimpered and put her head in her hands. No wonder the sun was so bright. "Where is Lillian and why did she let me sleep so long?"

"Lillian was going to wake you, but it was Lord Erik's orders not to. He said you all retired late, so he instructed no one to wake you before nine. So instead, Lillian is downstairs polishing the silver."

"Where is Erik now? We missed our breakfast together."

Missed a lot of things actually. From the moment she'd gotten off the ship in Liverpool, it had been a complete whirlwind. She and Erik had yet to be completely alone, although they had been able to steal a couple of moments of pleasantries along the way. Even on the train ride home, Lillian had sat next to her while Louis sat next to Erik. The two men spoke of nothing but business, although she could tell that it bothered him just as much as it bothered her. Then, at the train station, Dùghall was waiting with the carriage and he talked and talked all the way to the estate. No sooner did she step off the carriage at Haven then she was flooded by house servants and field workers who'd been waiting to greet her. Once inside, Mary Ellen had barely left her alone long enough for her to freshen up. Then dinner came and it was constant conversation and laughter until she retired. In the back of her mind, she'd been hoping that at breakfast, she and Erik could get a chance to really talk. There was just so much she'd wanted to tell him that she never included in her letters.

"At his office." Mary Ellen answered her, "I have your breakfast waiting outside, you can eat in here before your bath. He regretted leaving, but he had an important meeting. He did tell me to inform you that he would be home this afternoon by the time you returned."

"Returned? From where?" Isabella asked, holding the side of her head. She felt her matted hair and groaned to herself, knowing it was be a mess to try and brush out.

"Why, from shopping, my Lady. Recall, at supper you and Lady Elizabeth agreed that you would go shopping in Essex today? Her carriage is expected to pick you up in a couple of hours."

"Oh, yes…yes, I do remember that now. Well, I suppose I need to unpack my gowns…"

"Done, my Lady."

"Ah. Well, I should choose a gown to wear today…..not sure how cold it's supposed to be…"

"Still a tad snowy, so I have found you a nice winter gown." Mary Ellen pointed as she opened her wardrobe to find one of her gowns hanging on the door, ready to wear. "I also aired out and freshened your cape."

"What did you do, get up at three o'clock this morning to do all this?"

But Mary Ellen just waved her hand, "All of the staff, myself included, missed you terribly, my Lady. With you and Lillian gone, we had only Lord Erik to tend to and he did not require much of us other than our general house chores. I suppose it feels nice to be doing things for you once again. We…I mean the staff in general…we were relieved to know you were returning, we were…"

Isabella looked the maid in the eyes. It had been unusual as of late for Mary Ellen not to speak her mind, "You all were… what?"

"I suppose we were all afraid you would not come back to Haven."

Of course. Silly of her not to realize that the staff wouldn't think of that. After all, she'd thought of it, obviously they could sense the tension far beyond that of her grieving.

"I see." She reached up and began removing the pins from her hair. "I suppose that makes sense. I just needed to get away, not just for Father, but to put things in perspective."

"And did you do that?"

"Yes. I made peace with how things transpired between me and Father, but I will talk about that later, right now, I wish to know how things were here. How are the children doing with their lesson?"

"Wonderfully! They were wondering when you would begin their lessons again. Naturally, I did not know what to tell them."

"Tell them tomorr…." She dropped the pins on the bed and as she started to stand, held herself as a wave of dizziness nearly sent her backwards. "Tomorrow. That is, if I feel up to it. What about Teresa, did she continue with any of her lessons?"

"She did, my Lady. I helped her with some of them, but I do say she is making great progress. I thought she would have told you that yesterday when you spoke. She told me you saw her in the kitchen just before dinner."

"I did and I was going to ask, but we got off subject. She told me that you all had been hearing the mysterious piano music again."

Mary Ellen opened the door and brought in a rolling cart with her breakfast tray on it. "She speaks the truth, we did hear it, many times in fact since you were gone."

Isabella walked over to her small table and sat down, while Mary Ellen sat her breakfast out for her. "Did you find out its exact location?"

Mary Ellen went suddenly and eerily quiet.

"Mary Ellen?"

"Oh, I am sorry, my Lady. I just…"

"Well, its apparent that you did find out where it's coming from, so tell me, it's the forbidden room on the third floor, isn't it?"

Mary Ellen's eyes shot straight at Isabella and she needed to say nothing else in reply. "I see. So it's definitely Erik playing a piano in that room in which no one's to enter for fear of punishment."

"And it appears he is no longer keeping it such a deep secret from us, my Lady. No, we have never seen him going in and out of that room, but he is not limiting himself to playing at night, he played at all hours during your absence. A couple of days, the music went on all day, even though Jarrod kept telling us Lord Erik was in London at the office. But, now that you are home, I do not think he will feel the need to play quite as often."

"Why? Do you think his music playing has to do with me, exclusively?"

"The music is quite emotional, my Lady. Intense, with feelings of sadness, loneliness very deep passion. I daresay it is you that causes this in him. When we hear it, it does something, makes us feel…I cannot say it in words, but…"

"Brings to mind and heart every sadness ever experienced in your life, every wish, every longing…" Isabella finished with a long sigh, her voice softened, her eyes glossy.

"Yes, that is it exactly, how did you know?"

"Because…I didn't tell you this, but the night before I left, I heard him play again and that is exactly how it made me feel inside."

Mary Ellen gasped and sunk down to sit on Isabella's dressing bench, "You did?"

"Yes. And this time I was not asleep, not completely. I knew it wasn't a dream. I was fully aware of every note he played. It was hypnotic, simply hypnotic. I found myself swaying as I stood in the doorway, my eyes closing. The tone, the resonance, it had this ability to move you in way you never imagined. I found myself wanting to get closer to it, to seek it out."

"And did you do that?"

"Yes, but I only got as far as the end of the hallway. I heard the music two floors above me and I knew then exactly where it came from. I had thought about going up there, contemplated breaking down the door…" Isabella laughed softly, "…but then the music stopped as abruptly as it started and in fear of being caught out of bed, I ran back to my room. I didn't hear it again the rest of the night."

"Jarrod knows something, my Lady. I know he does."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Very sure. As I said, he told me the other day that Lord Erik was at work, when I knew he was in that room playing. It is like that every time I ask him about Lord Erik's playing. He denies it, rather insistently. And I know he hears it, he is standing right there with me."

"Umm…" Isabella played with her tangled hair, "I know Jarrod has been with Erik for many years, so if Erik is playing, he would know for sure. But, for right now, let's not push the issue. In time, I think I can get the truth from either him or Erik himself. Next time Erik goes to London, I might do some more snooping. But, right now, I need to eat this great breakfast while you tell me how everyone else is doing."

* * *

_Dear Erik,_

_I have been here just over a week and things are finally beginning to become less hectic. All the way over here on the ship, I had been doing nothing but worrying about what I would find once I returned to Wilmington. Had Jackson arrived yet? What about Mister Brolen and the mill and especially, what state of mind would Mother be in?_

_Turns out my family was better off than I'd imagined. Jackson was home and already settled in by the time I got here and he, Elisa and the children are adjusting well to their new life, living in and restoring an older home less than a block away from Mother. Jackson has changed so much in the few short years he's been away. His life working for the railroad has scarred and weakened his strong body and as he told me on one of our talks, he'd killed more Indians on the way to the west than he'd ever thought possible. He hated that life and what he'd become and when word came that Father was preparing to retire from the mill, he was more than happy for the excuse to come back._

_Mother, to my surprise, was quite well herself. She's even taken to hiring a full time maid to live with her. That was something she'd never even considered before. Yes, as you know, we had a part time housekeeper that came in three days a week to clean, but I would have hardly called her a maid, not the kind of maid I've been used to for the past months at Haven. Her name is Kelly and although she's only eighteen, she's quite efficient and very friendly. I can tell she's already taken a liking to Mother and wishes to please her. I know that Jackson and Elisa like her as well and now look to employ their own housemaid, given if expenses allow. In fact, I think they're secretly plotting a way to keep Lillian. She's been completely indispensable so far during the trip, always stepping in to help Mother or Elisa whenever she can. But if the idea even comes up in conversation, I will quickly silence it as I will not give up Lillian for anything._

_Mother told me the first few days after Father died were very hard, but given his poor health over the past few weeks, she was almost expecting him to die, preparing for it. She didn't know about the tumor, not until Mister Brolen had explained it to her the day of Father's funeral. She told me she'd been angry with him for keeping it secret, but in time, came to understand his reasons, just as I had. How strong she's become since my absence, Erik. I'm in awe of her. Relieved yet sad, elated but disappointed. I suppose, somewhere in the back of my mind, I'd wanted to feel needed, feel as if they were just on pins and needles waiting for me to return and help out, but the reality is, they're doing just fine without me. Don't get me wrong, they're very happy to see me and they miss me terribly, but they're all assuming I will return to England._

_And honestly, Erik, it was something I was not prepared to address, until now. At the time, if you had asked me if I was going to return, I wouldn't have been able to give you an answer. The agreement is no longer an issue. I have no real ties to England other than duty to the title of Marchioness of Haven, my friendships I've forged and of course, you. Yet, the more I stay here, the less this feels like home. Kelly now occupies the room I once had, nothing of mine remains and has been put in storage. I'm now staying in the smaller guestroom as more of…well…a guest. I've often thought I should be more upset by this, but find I'm truly not. Call it a moment of epiphany, but I know now where my home is. There are many boundaries still between us, Erik, but I'm willing to work at forming an honest, caring relationship if you are. I leave the decision up to you and await your next letter with great anticipation._

_Sincerely, _

_Isabella_

_P.S. I suppose I should arrange to have my stored items shipped home to Haven as soon as possible?_

Erik sat at his office desk alone, pensively tapping his pen against Isabella's letter that lay across his open ledger books. He hadn't spoken two words in the hour since he'd gotten there, but inside, his mind was racing with thousands of thoughts, all pertaining to one subject. The same subject that's been on his mind for the past couple of months.

His wife.

He'd supported Isabella's decision to go home, of course, he wouldn't ever think of denying her, yet inside, it had tore him apart. He felt it was much too soon to be parted from one another, her father's death or not. Fear rose with each passing mile the train took to Liverpool, his mind thinking of a million different excuses he could come up with to keep her there, even to the point of feigning a sudden, terrible illness. But in the end, nothing ever came to fruition.

_He walked her to the dock as Dùghall and Lillian made sure the bags were taken by the steward to the ship. Finally, they were alone. Now was his chance, his last shot to express himself before she left. She would be gone a whole month, possibly more and he knew his days and nights would be nothing but empty and endless until her return, yet for all that, he still couldn't force the words from his throat._

"_I hope the accommodations are much more suitable this trip, as I had more time to ensure a First Class cabin." He told her instead._

"_Thank you, I'm sure it's going to be much more comfortable this time. I do have Lillian to keep me company and besides, I'm…" _

_He noticed her pause and he studied her eyes, knowing exactly what she was thinking. _

"_In contrast to your first ship voyage, you know where you're going." He finished for her and saw her nod her head in agreement._

"_Yes it is far less stressful."_

"_I would believe so," he sighed, his shoulders slumping, giving way to his cowardess, "in any event, I hope you have a relaxing trip and can help your family. Please give them my most sincere regards." _

"_I will. Thank you, Erik. Truly, for everything, I appreciate all the support and encouragement you have given me these past few days."_

"_I have done nothing but perhaps just lend my shoulder." He tried to downplay it, but he couldn't, both of them knew better, even if they weren't saying it out loud._

"_Perhaps a shoulder is all I needed."_

_He opened her mouth to speak but the sound of the ship's horn cut him off._

_It was time._

"_Well, I must get onboard…"_

_He nodded, his mouth suddenly unable to make a sound. Do not mess this up! His mind screamed at him, but it was too late, Isabella had turned away and was starting up the plank board to the ship._

"_Isabella!" he finally called out._

_When she turned around, the sun encased her from behind and he swore she looked like an angel from heaven._

"_Yes?"_

_Another short pause as he lost his nerve again, but somehow, he saw something in her eyes that told him she understood._

"_Take care, Erik." She said softly before turning and boarding the ship._

_Only then, did he sigh and utter what he hoped beyond hope wouldn't be his last words to her…_

"_Goodbye, Isabella."_

Thank goodness, they weren't.

"Erik, you in there?" Thomas knocked, then slowly opened the door.

"Come in." Erik looked up, not exactly up for company, but relieved to have a small distraction.

"My, what are you doing in here so early, why are you not at home with your wife, celebrating her return in private?" Thomas laughed deeply in that jovial, infectious laugh he was so well known for.

Erik gestured for him to sit down in the large chair in front of his desk, "I have a meeting in about an hour, believe me, I would not have come in otherwise. But Isabella is going out with Elizabeth to shop this morning anyway, so my private celebration would have been short lived at best."

"Shame. Those can be the most enjoyable." Thomas scoffed as he sat, then took a cigar from his pocket and lit it.

"What is your point, Thomas?" Erik sighed, then picked up Isabella's letter and folded it.

"I have no point, my friend, I just…what is that?" he pointed.

"A letter Isabella wrote me while in Wilmington."

"The one you told me about, where she said she would like to work on making a real marriage?"

"The one." Erik slid it into his jacket pocket, then folded his hands on top of his desk. "And she said _relationship_, not marriage."

"Same thing."

"Did you just come in here to trifle with words, Thomas?"

The Duke studied his friend closely. He knew that look. The look that said, _I don't mind that you're here, but I would prefer to be alone and turn morose_. He sighed deeply, elaborately.

"You don't think she's returned for you, do you? No matter what that letter says, you simply cannot let yourself believe it."

Erik's eyes shot over at him. God, sometimes the man was too perceptive for his own good. Or could it be _he_ was just too predictable?

"No, I believe she's returned because she knows I have been placing money into a special account for her mother. That, I know."

Thomas sat forward in his chair, not believing a word of it, "Bloody hell, how do you know such a thing?"

"It was one of the couple of times we were able to speak in relative privacy on the train ride home. She told me she knew of the account, her mother had told her. She also knew I'd sent a large amount into the account just after hearing of Simon Hawkins' death, to help cover the expenses she put out for the funeral."

"And Isabella thinks that if she leaves England, you will stop sending money to her Mother?"

"She didn't say directly, but yes, I believe she does."

"For one thing, I don't think she's returned here just for that, but even if it was true, then you must tell her the truth about your feelings and straighten this whole situation out." Thomas rose to his feet and began to pace in front of Erik's desk. "She has to know about Sabine, what she did to you, the accident, everything."

Erik snorted, "Accident. You still call it an accident after everything I have told you."

"It was an accident, Erik. What happened was not your fault…"

"It was, Thomas!" he slammed his fist against his desk in a sudden angry burst, then just as quickly, calmed himself, knowing it didn't do any good to be overheard by everyone in the office. He inhaled carefully, then exhaled, "I might not have caused it directly, but this all stemmed from my anger…my jealousy…my rage…_my_ actions led to what happened. You cannot deny that."

Thomas leaned over Erik's desk, his hands resting on the stop. He met his friend face to face, determined not to back down. "Your anger, jealousy, rage and your actions were justified. What she did to you….what she was _going_ to do to you was unthinkable, unconscionable. What else could you do, what else could you think? Erik…my friend, you must have faith in Isabella, tell her the truth."

Erik's eyes closed, his head falling in silent sublimation. "I suppose at this point, I have nothing to lose by telling the truth. Yes, I will speak to her."

Thomas' tension immediately left his body, "You will? Promise me."

"I shall, I promise you. This afternoon, God help me, I promise to tell her everything."

"Good. Then you can get on to the business of having a proper wedding."

"Thomas." Erik sighed.

He laughed, "Very well, too much to hope for at this point, but a man can wish."

* * *

"I say, how many music boxes are you going to collect?" Elizabeth laughed as Isabella held up to examine her second music box she'd purchased that day. Since her initial arrival in England, she already had a curio cabinet in her room nearly full of them.

"I only have nine, including the one you gave me, Elizabeth." She smirked as she listened to the unknown, but soothing lullaby that the dark wooden box played.

"Well, I suppose every lady should collect something, it passes the time. As you have seen, I love my collection of porcelain dolls."

"Why yes!" Isabella exclaimed, "You have nearly fifty dolls, so I don't think you can say anything about my nine music boxes."

Elizabeth popped her friend on the arm playfully, "I have been collecting much longer than you have! Besides, one can never have too many porcelain dolls."

"And one can never have too many music boxes."

Isabella and Elizabeth walked outside the shop where they handed their purchases to the Duchess' riders.

"Tell me, when is Tommy due home for a visit? I haven't seen him since mid September."

"He will be home for the Christmas holidays, I am sure, if not sooner."

"Good, I'll be sure to buy him a Christmas present, he's such a fine boy, I really enjoyed spending time with him. He's very intelligent for his age, I know you're…" she was talking and talking away, but Elizabeth was no longer listening. Her eyes, instead, had focused on a sight before her only a few feet away. She gently tugged at Isabella's sleeve. "…very proud of him for….what is it?"

Elizabeth gestured and Isabella's eyes followed, then narrowed as she saw who had just walked out of a clothing store nearby.

Rebecca Arrington.

Wearing the gaudiest, purple and yellow gown both women had ever seen, they watched as she stood, gesturing and griping at the storeowner, then turning in a huff to get into a large, dark carriage, her arms full of packages.

In the blink of an eye, Isabella's day went from good to bad.

"Who makes this woman's garments? To think, wearing a gown with no high collared neckline," Elizabeth groaned, "as cold as it is, with her bosom exposed like that and no decent cape, it is a wonder she does not catch her death."

"I wouldn't mourn her." Isabella replied sharply, then hearing Elizabeth gasp, realized her mistake. "Sorry."

But Elizabeth only patted her arm, "You need not worry about her anymore, she is no threat to you. The relationship…or whatever you would call it….she had with Erik is over."

"I would not be so confident of that." A voice spoke from behind them and both ladies froze, neither needing to turn around to know who it was.

Lady Cecelia Wentworth.

Now Isabella's day had gone from bad to worse. She glanced at Elizabeth and rolled her eyes.

"Good day, Lady Wentworth," Elizabeth finally said as she turned around and slowly tried to paste a smile of goodwill on her face.

"Good day, your Grace, good day, Lady Haven." Lady Wentworth replied to them both with a very slight bow, just enough for protocol sake, but not enough for friendliness.

"I believe Lady Isabella and I were having a private conversation. I am sure, as one who prides herself on chastising everyone else about proper etiquette, you know it is not proper to interrupt."

"You are correct, your Grace. Forgive the intrusion, but for the sake of propriety, I felt I must make known of what I have heard in regards to Lady Haven's husband." She answered her.

"What you may or may not have heard about Lord Haven is none of your…"

"What have you heard?" Isabella interrupted. She'd intended, after what had transpired at the dinner party, not to speak to Lady Wentworth at all, but damn her for it, she now found she was too curious _not_ to hear it. Besides, she told herself, it might be good for a laugh. Elizabeth shot a glance her way, but she tried to silently indicate back to her that it was alright.

"I understand that your travel to America took nearly a month of your time away from Haven Manor." Lady Wentworth said to her.

"Yes, typical for travel these days, especially by ship."

"I hope your time there was enjoyable."

"Yes, enjoyable as it can be under the sad circumstances. I was happy to visit with my family again."

"Yes, of course. So terribly sorry to hear of your Father's death. In ill health, was he?"

"Not inordinately," Isabella answered uncomfortably and felt Elizabeth grasp her hand. She was unprepared and in no mood to answer questions about her father, not just yet. "I don't see the point in this, Lady…"

"This is only rumor, mind you," Lady Wentworth didn't bother to let her finish her sentence before she got down to business, "but I heard one of my maids talking to a maid from the Arrington household and it was said that Lady Rebecca Arrington had been back and forth to Haven on at least three occasions during your absence."

Isabella's lovely hazel eyes narrowed sharply, "Is that so?"

"Yes, and strangely enough, it was during times in which Lord Erik had allowed the house staff time to go into town for shopping and other leisurely activities."

Isabella rolled her eyes again, but this time made sure Lady Wentworth could see, "And what did these gossiping peacocks say my Lord and the Lady Arrington were doing while alone in my home, might I ask?"

"I believe you can figure that out, Lady Haven, intelligent young woman that you are. Lady Rebecca Arrington is not exactly known for paying strictly social calls."

"Hold your lying tongue before someone slaps it from your head," Elizabeth snapped at her, still keeping her voice low. "Thomas and I spent many nights at Haven with Lord Erik during his wife's visit to America and there was no indication of anything going on with Rebecca Arrington. Yes, there were times in which Lord Erik allowed the staff some time off to themselves after their duties, but I assure you, he took the time to do work, not consort with such a woman as her."

"Forgive me for upsetting you, Duchess, but I am only passing on what I had heard. Why would maids lie in speaking to one another? They did not know I was listening. The Arrington's maid said Lady Rebecca was quite upset because she apparently had left an earring behind on her last visit, which I heard was a mere three days ago. Blue topaz with diamonds around it, I heard them say. Very expensive, a gift from an…admirer, I am sure."

"Preposterous, if an earring was found, Lady Isabella's house staff would have told her about it."

"Not if Lord Erik found it first and kept it. Intending to give it back, mind you, but under the circumstances, not having the opportunity."

Isabella scoffed, waving her hand, "You are simply passing on useless information, Lady Wentworth. Repeating innuendo from those who have nothing better to do. A pastime that you seem to enjoy quite well. What my husband does while I'm gone is of no concern to you, or anyone else. I trust in Erik and believe in his love for me." Her voice seemed to come off as confident, but her heart certainly was not. Yes, for sure it was a rumor, but Lady Wentworth did have a point, why would maids lie amongst themselves? There had to be a simple explanation for Rebecca Arrington coming to the house to see Erik with the staff gone, all she had to do was ask.

"I only say this for you to be aware, Lady Haven. It was never a secret how many mistresses Lord Haven kept in his company before you arrived. It is also no secret that he dispensed with them shortly after your marriage. Yet, it now appears he did not sever ties with Lady Arrington after all."

"Thank you for being concerned for my welfare, but you needn't be. I think I can handle myself and my marriage. Now, if you will excuse me…" Isabella took Elizabeth's arm and walked her to the carriage.

"Good day…" Lady Wentworth smirked as she watched them step inside the carriage before walking on ahead.

"The nerve of that woman." Elizabeth growled as they stepped inside the carriage. "Do not pay her any mind; she is just trying to stir up trouble."

"I know, it's alright." Isabella assured her, but inside, she still wondered.

"Her own husband must have at least four mistresses, I know she is a very unhappy woman. Women like that seek to do nothing but tear down the happiness of others. She's jealous, you see, dear. Jealous of your happiness."

"I'm not concerned about her or her marriage. Whether or not she's jealous is not the issue, Elizabeth. I just think it's a tad odd that she's here in Essex today at all. Didn't you say she hated being out and about this time of the season as she abhorred the cold weather?"

"With no carriage nearby, or attendants that I saw." Elizabeth added, rubbing her chin in deep thought. "And yes, she hates the cold. A woman like that is already cold blooded. She hardly leaves her estate during winter, but say for a trip to the theatre every so often."

"So why would she be in Essex? All that's here is shops and farmer's markets."

Elizabeth shrugged, feeling a sudden heaviness in the pit of her stomach, but for Isabella's sake, she put on a brave front and changed the subject back to her newly purchased music boxes. That caused a smile. But inside, Elizabeth knew something just wasn't right about the situation. Had Erik deceived both her and Thomas, bringing Rebecca to his home on the sly, or was Lady Wentworth simply passing on gossip from lying maids. She silently resolved to find out the truth before trouble could start.

* * *

A/N: --braces for everyone to bash me for not sending Erik to Wilmington with Isabella-- I know, I know! But be patient, it plays better for the whole story this way. Hope you all enjoy the chapter no matter. Thanks for the reviews, always get so excited to read them!!


	16. Chapter 16 Another Test of Faith

Haven

Chapter Sixteen:

"Do you think she believed you?" Rebecca Arrington looked across the carriage at Lady Wentworth as it sat just in front of her meager, but expensively decorated country home. Earlier that day, both women had glanced out the darkened window curtains to see The Duchess' carriage pull away from the shopping district in Essex before leaving themselves.

"Lady Haven, as per her nature, had a sharp tongue, but strangely enough, The Duchess did as well. I could see Lady Haven's face though. She appeared self assured, but I think I planted the seed of doubt in her mind." Lady Wentworth answered her.

The two of them, not typically those who meet and associate in the same circle, had formed a mutual relationship over the past weeks with their dislike of the new Lady Haven. Lady Wentworth liked Rebecca and found her strong will and determination to keep what she felt was hers most appealing. In Lady Wentworth, Rebecca found someone who could not only help her achieve her goals, but one who had lots of money, willing to spend it on anyone who pleased her.

"Good." Rebecca smirked her way, "It was most fortunate that we spotted both of them going into the shop like that. I had no idea Lady Haven had returned from her trip to America. I hated to be so unprepared, but as it is, I believe it went well."

"Oh, it is always wise to be prepared. Now, what happened during your visit to Haven? Did you have any trouble planting the earring as I told you to?"

"None whatsoever. It went much smoother than I anticipated. Pushing past that old cuckold of a butler was not easy, but after making a true spectacle of myself, screaming I had left my scarf there on my last visit, I managed to get into the library."

"Was Lord Haven there?"

"At that time of day, I did not expect him to be, but surprisingly, he was. Oh, I tell you, that man is still a sight to behold! The marriage to that milk faced woman has not had him worse for wear, at least not yet. But, he truly did not appear happy to see me."

"Did he speak to you at all?"

"Only in basic terms. He said he was displeased to hear me squawking all the way inside. Squawking! Me!" she said, exasperatedly, then took a moment to fan herself before continuing, "Nonetheless, I sat down on the chaise and tried to hold a simple, innocent conversation. Unfortunately, he was not in the mood for talk. I went ahead and let the earring slip down into the cushions…"

"Wait, I told you to drop it under the chaise on the floor!" Lady Wentworth sat forward in a panic. It hadn't taken Lady Wentworth long to learn that Rebecca wasn't one for being terribly smart-thinking on her own, which is why she had taken the time to lay out the plan carefully. She couldn't afford a screw up.

"Yes, I know, but Erik let it slip that no one had been in there to clean since Lady Haven left for America, so it was perfect. Surely it would be found quicker by someone sitting on it rather than leaving it to chance on the floor, would you not agree?"

Lady Wentworth scratched her chin in deep thought. An unexpected change of plans, but a delightful one, to her relief. Yes, she thought to herself, she knew from Rebecca that Erik never entertained socially in his library and when alone, he sat in the large chair by the window, so the only person who would most likely sit on the chaise would be Lady Haven herself. And if she sat on the earring…after what she'd just told her….

"Yes, a very smart move, Lady Arrington. I am very pleased." She practically gushed like a young girl.

"I was glad to do it. Ridiculous, being cast aside by Erik just because he takes a wife. Men have mistresses all the time, why should he be any different? And Lady Haven herself, silly old biddy, blushing at seeing two people in an embrace. It was like she had never…well." She grinned, "I thank you, Lady Wentworth, for your invaluable advice and assistance in this matter."

"Yes, sometimes fortunate circumstances happen, dear. But, it is I who should thank you, Lady Arrington, for telling me that the marriage of Lord and Lady Haven was nothing more than a business arrangement set up by him and her Father to keep him out of debt. How delightfully juicy that knowledge is."

"It is amazing what type of information I can get from Erik's associates during those more…intimate times." Rebecca grinned broadly.

That, Lady Wentworth could not deny. Yes, it was where Rebecca's true talent lied."

"Surely, not The Duke of Pure Faithfulness." She smirked.

Rebecca laughed loudly. "Oh no! Even if I were to even entertain that notion, he would never betray the sickeningly loyal friendship he has with Erik. No, I meant Lord Helsey."

It was Lady Wentworth's turn to laugh out loud, but for a very different reason. "Him? I had no idea he…"

"Had a mistress? Let us just say that my relationship with Lord Helsey is a new and most enlightening one. He can be most generous, not only with his gifts, but with his loose lips. He told me he was patronizing the bank and decided to pay a call on Erik in his office over a month ago. Imagine, the fortune of hearing the conversation between Mister Hawkins and Erik. At first he did not understand all of what he was hearing, not until he heard of the marriage of Erik and Miss Isabella, then he put the two together."

"And the old badger has no clue the impact of such news?"

"None." Rebecca grinned again.

"Just think…that dinner party they threw, trying to convince everyone they were in love, when, in essence, it was all a lie. I am sure it will come in handy sometime, if nothing more than to knock that woman down a peg or two."

"Just as long as we both get what we want, Lady Wentworth, I will be quite satisfied. What you do with your knowledge is up to you."

"I only wish we could gather more. Perhaps I should have one of my maids try to befriend one of the Haven's maids. What do you think?"

Rebecca tapped her fingers on the carriage door latch in thought, "The only one that might be of assistance to you would be Lillian. She is young and pretty naïve, in my opinion. If she could be sweet talked into revealing some secrets…"

Lady Wentworth practically beamed, "Yes! If I am not mistaken, Emily, my scullery maid is friends with a maid named Lillian. It must be the same one. I will get her to be a bit more persistent in her efforts to have her friend talk about the Haven's relationship. Lady Haven has a certain..." Lady Wentworth scoffed, "…relationship with the servants. She allows the field workers into the house with the house staff and she even eats some of her meals with them. Simply dreadful, I say, but it might allow for Emily to get inside and look around, report to me anything that can be useful to us."

"Excellent!" Rebecca opened the carriage door as one of her maids gathered her packages. "Tea tomorrow, here?"

"Yes, tea would be lovely. I will send Emily to the Haven estate as soon as I return home."

"Again, thank you." Rebecca said to her, "and hopefully, she will bring news of a big fight between Lord and Lady Haven, over his mistress."

Both women laughed and even as Rebecca entered her home, she swore she could still hear Lady Wentworth laughing as the carriage pulled away.

* * *

"Mary Ellen!" Isabella called out as she entered the house.

Both Mary Ellen and Jarrod came running at the insistent voice of their Mistress, Mary Ellen, from the parlor and Jarrod from upstairs.

"My Lady, we did not know you had arrived! You are early!" Mary Ellen answered, out of breath, as Jarrod took her packages and quickly headed upstairs with them.

"I am a bit early, yes. Is Lord Erik home?" She removed her cape and handed both it and her muff to Mary Ellen.

"Yes, my Lady. He arrived home not ten minutes ago. He is in the study waiting for you."

Isabella let out a deep breath, "Good, I shall go in there then."

"Is there something wrong, my Lady? You look terribly flustered."

Isabella paused and waited until Jarrod had gone into her room before speaking, "If I were to ask you something important, would you tell me the truth, even if it meant betraying Lord Erik's confidence?"

Mary Ellen paused, studying her Mistress's face. "Yes, my Lady, I would always be honest with you." She replied without any reservation.

"Is it true that Erik, on several occasions, allowed the entire house staff, at one time, to take time off from their duties and go into town?"

Mary Ellen shrugged, "Yes, he did, my Lady. This is nothing new for us, he used to allow us to do that on a rare occasion. That is, if we got our work done. Why?"

Isabella rubbed her hands together, "Mary Ellen. I need to know something. Has Rebecca Arrington been in this house at anytime since he dismissed her? Even while I was in Wilmington?"

"No, absolutely not, my Lady….oh…wait…"

"What?"

"There was one time, actually, but it was very short. She did come here; Jarrod answered the door, as the rest of us had gone into Hampton to do some shopping. He told me she was looking for her scarf. Quite insistently, as he said she shrieked unintelligibly like a wounded bird all the way to Lord Erik's library. But, I swear to you, my Lady, she was not in the library with Erik longer than ten minutes before he said she left out the front door."

"A scarf? Did you or Lillian even find such a scarf when you were cleaning up?"

"No, my lady. Never. I have cleaned in there many times since she was dismissed. Except for when you were gone, my lady. Lord Erik felt it was not needed since the only time he spent in there without you, he was just doing the books and not for very long."

"I see. Interesting that Lady Wentworth would believe a scarf would not have been returned to her if found, knowing it was hers. And this is the only time she came to the house?"

"To my knowledge, my lady. But I cannot say absolutely, since I did not spend every minute here in the house."

"Very well. Thank you, Mary Ellen for your honesty." Isabella patted her shoulder.

"May I ask you now, my Lady, why have you asked about that woman?"

Isabella raised her hand, "Rumor, nothing more. It has been resolved now, so I won't acknowledge the ridiculousness by speaking about it."

"Very well." Mary Ellen answered as she watched Isabella walk down the hallway towards the library.

"What was that about?" Jarrod asked when he came down the stairs.

But Mary Ellen just shrugged, "I will explain later, Jarrod."

* * *

Isabella took a moment to gather herself before opening the door, relieved to know that what Lady Wentworth had told her was indeed nothing but gossip based on one single incident. She chose not to tell Erik and let it pass.

"Good afternoon, my Lady." Erik smiled brightly as he saw his wife enter the library. Her cheeks were flush, most likely from the cold, but she looked stunning in her dark blue gown. He rose from behind the desk and held out his hand to her.

"Good afternoon." She replied with a bright smile as she approached, taking his hand. He looked amazing in his dark suit and burgundy vest, his cravat curiously absent, to her delight.

"My, your hand is like ice, did you not wear your muff today?"

"I admit, I was admiring one of my newly purchased music boxes and I kept my hands out of the muff longer than I should have."

He rubbed her hand and to Isabella, the feeling of her hand in his larger, warmer ones was absolutely comforting.

"Come, sit down on the chaise by the fire and warm yourself." He walked with her and watched as she sat down on the chaise before sitting in the small chair next to it.

Instantly, she felt the cold seep from her bones, but she dared to think it was not the fire, but Erik that was the cause. She observed him closely, as if for the first time. Something had changed inside him instantly, as from day to night. She could see that his face, even hidden behind the striking mask, had turned solemn and pensive. And although he'd yet to speak a word, she knew it was nervousness, the cause unknown. It seemed to radiate from his touch, right through her hands right to her heart.

"Erik, are you alright? You seem…preoccupied all of a sudden." She asked him, giving his hands a tighter squeeze of encouragement.

"I had just planned on asking you how your day had been so far. If you enjoyed your shopping. I had planned on asking more about your trip to Wilmington. We had so little time to talk yesterday…" He answered with a whispering stutter, his eyes studying her closely.

"…and something stopped you?"

Erik nodded then fell silent, trying in vain to try and put more words together, anything that could possibly make sense. Why was he so nervous? He knew why. He had to ask the most difficult question, the one he dreaded asking. No, not for the question itself, but for the answer.

"Erik, please tell me what's on your mind, this silence is very disconcerting."

"Isabella, I need to know why." He finally managed to utter.

She narrowed her eyes, "Why what?"

"Why did you return here?"

That was a bizarre question, hadn't he read her letter? "I wanted to return, Erik. I realized while I was in Wilmington just how much I missed it here. I never thought I would, quite honestly. But I have grown to love Haven. The staff is wonderful and I have made great friends…."

"And that is all?" Erik barely let her thoughts be said before he interrupted, his eyes turning downcast.

She leaned forward and took his hand, "Why are you asking this, why do you have doubts? I thought I made my feelings clear in my letter to you."

"I read your letter, but to be honest, I do have doubts. On the train, you told me you knew of the account I set up for your mother. I just…Isabella." Again, he took a long, lingering sigh to gather in his mind just what he needed to say, "I wish you to know that no matter what happens between us, whether or not you decide to stay, I will always keep that account for her. It is for her future, to ensure she has all she needs. You are free to leave at anytime."

Isabella immediately opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her with a squeeze of his hand to hers, "There have been…things…in my past that cause me to mistrust people. I would be much more contented knowing that you are in Wilmington, happy with your family, then here with me out of some obligation. When you first arrived, I thought I would be happy to have you here under the guise of my agreement with your father, but not anymore. I will not force, nor beg you to stay, Isabella. I just want honesty. Tell me now and I shall let you go."

She felt the very air seep from her body. What courage and strength it must have taken for him to reveal his heart in such a way. What torture must have been going through his mind while she was gone, trying to sort out her true meaning behind the letter. Yes, she knew of the account, but never once did it cross her mind to stay because of it. She knew him well enough now to know he wouldn't be cruel enough to deny her mother financial security just because they parted ways.

"Oh, Erik." She said breathlessly, "I had no idea my telling you about my knowledge of the account made you think my returning was based on that. Please, let me put your mind at ease. I returned for no other reason than because I wanted to try and work on a relationship with you."

"But what _kind_ of relationship?" He found himself spurting out before his mouth could stop it. Stupid man! She'd just given him such a gift and he questions it before he can even be thankful.

"As I know we have not known each other very long, I had thought we might start on friendship? I certainly wish that."

"Then what?" he leaned forward, even closer to her. So close he could smell her perfume and was delighted to recognize it as one he'd provided for her in her room when she first arrived. "What do you wish after?"

Now it was Isabella's turn to stutter. She stared at him almost blankly, noticing the sudden sparkle in his eyes, "I don't know…"

"Then I ask you again, Isabella," his voice turned insistent, more confident, yet never reaching a loud tone, "Why did you return? Friendship is not enough. We can develop a friendship through letters. I need to know there is more."

That was definitely something Isabella didn't expect. She'd never really given thought to just what she wanted with Erik beyond that of friendship. Yet now, sitting there with him, hearing him pour out his heart in such a way, she wondered if perhaps she'd only been fooling herself. That, in truth, she did return in anticipation of more, much more.

"I know we didn't start off very well, but I have grown fond of you, Erik. Very fond. I would not be opposed to a …to a courtship, if you feel inclined to take it in that direction."

It was if someone had just freed his heart from a gilded cage. It couldn't possibly soar any higher.

"I, too, am very fond of you, Isabella. I know we are already married, but I do not consider us so, not in the traditional way. Until such time, I shall only ask permission to begin courting you. A manner in which should have been done in the very beginning."

Isabella beamed, instantly thinking of Elizabeth's reaction. She couldn't wait to run to Waverly and tell her the news. Yet…that thought quickly passed as she felt a sudden warmth radiate through her body.

Erik was kissing her hand, his lips lingering leisurely. His breath dusted across her skin and she felt it go gooseflesh instantly. She was sure she blushed, yet couldn't possibly turn away from him.

"And here I was just going to tell you about my….music boxes…" she whispered, then laughed nervously.

"Later." Erik answered, his voice turning gruff, no doubt with a newfound and unmistakable fervor.

His face cupped her cheek and looked deep into her eyes, trying to read them. He could see the compassion, the deep affection, yet was it all just a hope induced illusion? "Perhaps…" he began cautiously, "as we are courting, I could ask permission to kiss you?"

His question was so innocent, as if a young boy was asking his sweetheart. Yet, in it, she could feel the need of a strong man. More than once she had wondered what it would feel like to kiss him, now it was hers for the taking. How could she possibly say no?

She nodded and moved toward the end of the chaise, being gently guided by his hand. Time seemed to stand still as finally, he pressed his lips to hers. She inhaled sharply at the feel of his lips, so soft, much softer than she'd even imagined during those quiet nights where she sat on the chaise and watched him work from his desk. They seemed to almost enclose around hers, knowing just the exact way she preferred it. Her hand slid up his arm to his hand over her cheek and caressed it softly, giving him silent encouragement. She heard him inhale sharply against her and she loved that she'd caused that in him.

Feeling braver now that she'd touched his hand, Erik cautiously opened his mouth to cover hers, desperate to taste even more and was pleased to feel her return the subtle gesture in kind. She felt like heaven, her lips full and tender, perfect for kissing in a moment like this. How he missed it, the first kiss between a man and woman who were falling in love. That was it. He was falling in love. There was no denying it any longer. She had to know everything. It was time he learned to trust. He reluctantly pulled from her embrace and whispered, "Isabella."

She felt Erik's lips part from hers and they ached in the absence. She gazed longingly at him and for the first time, she had an overwhelming need to see behind the mask. It was something she had hardly thought about before. Of course she had always been curious of it, but the mask itself fit so perfectly to his face that it was almost like skin. Most times, she truly didn't notice it.

Except now.

Before she could stop herself, she reached up and touched the opaque covering, then quickly pulled away when he flinched.

"Oh God, forgive me…." She whispered, feeling she could almost kick herself for marring a perfect moment by her own inane curiosity.

But to her shock, Erik shook his head and replaced her hand to the mask. "No, forgive me. I did not expect..."

"You don't mind?"

He smiled softly at her, "Yes, I do mind. No one has seen…yet, there is so much I have to tell you. So much you need to know before we can begin to live as husband and wife. Therefore, if this is the first step, so be it."

Just as suddenly as the urge came, his words of trust made it disappear. Now that she knew that anytime, she could see what lied beneath, it wasn't as urgent to do so. It could wait for another time, another day. She slowly laid her hand to rest on his shoulder and although he tried to hide it, the relief was evident.

"Let's just begin with talking, Erik. I'm ready to hear all you wish to tell me."

"Where shall I start? Ask me anything."

"You mentioned that things happened in your past to cause you mistrust. What are they? What are you hiding from your past?"

"I…" he began, then stopped as a sound erupted from outside the library door.

"Lord Erik!" Lillian called out, knocking loudly. "Has my Lady arrived?"

Both Erik and Isabella sighed deeply, yet they couldn't help but laugh as well. Their timing had never been very good.

"One day, I shall have to send all the staff away if we are to talk." Erik rolled his eyes.

"I hear Siberia is nice this time of year."

Erik laughed, then called out to Lillian, "Yes, she has!"

"Is there anything wrong?" Isabella said right behind him.

"It is most urgent that I speak with you, Mum."

"Come in, then."

Lillian walked in hastily, but paused when she saw both Erik and Isabella in such close proximity. She blushed profusely. "Ah…"

"You said you needed to talk to me?" Isabella asked in a reassuring voice.

"Umm…yes. Yes, if that is alright, Mum. I can leave and return at a more… appropriate time."

Isabella began to stand, "It's fine, we can go into the parlor…" but Erik stopped her and stood up himself.

"No, I needed to freshen up before dinner anyway, you two remain here to talk, I shall be only a half hour."

"Very well, I can wait here for you."

He nodded and stroked her chin with his finger, just as he'd done in the parlor after her collapse, seemingly so long ago. To her at that moment, it felt like the most intimate, touching gesture, a simple promise of what was sure to come soon. That thought alone made her body shiver with anticipation.

"Sit down and tell me what's wrong, Lillian." Isabella gestured toward the other end of the chaise once Erik exited the library and both women heard the door click shut. She took care to hide her hands in her lap so Lillian wouldn't see they were still shaking.

"A friend of mine is here, outside behind the field kitchen, Mum. Her name is Emily and I wish permission to let her inside. She visits me often, but today, she came without her shawl, Mum, and she is terribly cold."

"Came without her shawl? On a day like today! Doesn't she have one of her own?"

"She does, Mum, but honestly, it is so old and worn that the last time she washed it, it plum fell to pieces! What little money she makes in her duties in the scullery, she takes to her family. She has four younger siblings and they need it to survive, especially in this colder weather."

"Good God, the poverty of this place sometimes…" Isabella muttered angrily, wringing her hands. "By all means, bring Emily to the kitchen and provide her with some hot soup. I believe I have an older shawl that I'm not using that would be warm enough for her. I'll come with you to the kitchen and see to her."

"Oh no, Mum!" Lillian practically jumped up in protest. "She is too proud, she would never accept the shawl as it would be charity. She is not like me or Mary Ellen. She is not used to the kindness of ladies like you. If she sees you, she would run away. It is the fear of getting in trouble, you see."

"Umm…I suppose you're right, forgive me. Well, how about I give you the shawl and you give to her? Pretend it's yours and just let her have it. Friend to friend. She'd accept that, wouldn't she?"

"Yes, I believe she would. Thank you, Mum."

"Good. Now, up in my room, in the trunk by my bed, there is a wool shawl, the brown one. It's right on the top on the left side, you can't miss it. Take her that one, it is very warm and should do nicely. I'll stay in here and read until Erik returns, that way she won't see me at all."

"I shall do that now!" Lillian answered excitedly and as she stood, something dropped from the chaise to the floor, making a small thump on the hardwood. Both women stopped and looked down.

"Did you get so excited a button popped off your uniform, Lillian?" Isabella laughed.

"Perhaps so, Mum," the maid answered as she bent over to pick it up, then she simply laughed herself, "Oh my, how lovely…" then she handed it to Isabella, "…I suppose this is yours…"

Isabella held the object in the palm of her hand and all the color drained from her face as she realized what it was.

A diamond and blue topaz earring.

"That is yours, right?" Lillian asked again, noticing the sudden change in her demeanor.

"Lillian, just go bring Emily inside before she catches her death."

"What's wrong? Are you ill, Mum?"

"Just do as I say." She answered insistently, her gaze drifting further and further away. She had to be alone when it all sunk in. Yet, the girl just stood there, staring. Why didn't she do what she was told and leave? Finally, desperate to avoid the risk of making a fool of herself, she swatted at Lillian's skirt.

"Go, now….just go…!"

* * *

Isabella was still sitting catatonic on the chaise when Erik entered nearly a half hour later. She barely noticed, all she could see was Erik and Rebecca Arrington in another sexual embrace on the very place where she sat. She was sure it hadn't been a mere brief encounter like she'd interrupted before. No, she could see Erik lifting her to sit on his lap, her clothes being torn away, their bodies moving together, breathing labored, voices crying out passionately. She could see Erik with his hands on Rebecca's neck, pulling her to his hungry mouth so forcefully that it knocked the earring right off, falling and embedding itself in the cushion. Despite those maddening images, she didn't have the strength or drive to move to the other chair. All she could feel was the pain of the earring digging into the palm of her hand in the death grip. All she wanted to do now was confront him for his deception. A trusting relationship? How could that be now?

"I can say from all that I washed off, that the streets were indeed dusty today. I bet even the snow was not clean." Erik said innocently as he approached the chaise. "I could have been in there another half hour, but as I knew you were waiting for me, I…" he stopped when he saw she was looking away, tears streaming untouched down her cheeks.

"My God, Isabella, you are crying!" he immediately sank to the chaise next to her, "tell me what has happened." He tried to take her hand but she pulled away.

"I will not mince words, Erik..." her shaky voice replied, as she wiped her tears. She opened her hand and showed Erik the earring, "Your Lady Rebecca left something behind during her last visit."

Erik looked at the earring in Isabella's palm and merely shrugged, "I do not understand. What makes you think this is Rebecca's earring?"

"It is not mine, nor Elizabeth's, that I'm sure of. So, you might advise her that in the future she might take care to remove her jewelry _before_ lying with you."

Erik flinched at the sharp and biting words. This certainly wasn't her usual talk. He still couldn't understand why she would be so upset over an earring. "Where did you find it?"

"Inside the chaise cushion, if you must know. It fell to the floor when Lillian stood up."

"And it was not found in the month since she was here last? Surely, Lillian or Mary Ellen would have…."

"Yes, they would have, if it had been here the whole month, which both you and I know it had not."

"Are you telling me that you believe it was left here since then?" It all began to make sense now.

"Do not trifle with me, Erik. I know it was." Isabella stood up and began to pace. "As I've been reminded by most here in English society, if a man takes a mistress, the wife has little say. It appears you don't wish to be parted from Lady Arrington, despite your promise to do so. So be it. You wish to keep her, I can't say anything. But for the sake of all that is good, come clean about it."

"I told you I ended my relationship with Rebecca and I've kept my word, despite what you think you've uncovered. She has not been…."

"….don't lie, Erik!" Isabella screamed.

"I trust you not to continue to raise your voice, Isabella, do you wish the staff to hear you like this?" Erik answered her anger with a quiet, but very serious tone.

Isabella's lip quivered, but she did lower her voice, "Lady Wentworth told me today that there had been talk amongst her servants that Lady Arrington had been here on more than one occasion during my time in Wilmington. And on one visit in particular, an earring had been left behind…that one." She tossed the earring onto the chaise where she had just been sitting. "She described it perfectly. Do you deny she was here at all?"

Erik felt himself go pale as he finally got a better look at the earring. My God. That day she came looking for her scarf, it must have been.

"_Oh, Erik, why do you not just come here and sit beside me, so we can talk?" Rebecca practically cooed at him as he saw her sitting over on the chaise, but he didn't take the bait. He continued writing in his ledgers, still trying to find out her true meaning for being there. Yes, she'd told him about the scarf, but he wasn't sure he believed her._

"_I am busy, Rebecca. You are welcome to look for your scarf, but make it quick."_

_He could hear her huff in frustration, but he merely stared at her, stone faced._

"_I miss you." She finally told him when he made no further effort to hold a conversation._

_He was right, there was an ulterior motive._

"_I am sorry that you do, but I told you, I have made a new life for myself. I enjoyed your company in the past, but it's over now." He replied to her._

"_Erik, can you really say that you truly love this woman? You hardly know her."_

"_I do love her. I need say nothing more than that. My relationship with my wife is my business."_

_He watched her approach the desk and in relief she was finally leaving, he stood to show her to the door, but was shocked to see her suddenly throw her arms around his neck and try to kiss him. He shoved her away by the shoulders. "What are you trying to do?" he growled at her._

"_Just showing you what you will be missing, Erik. What you will never find with your new wife. She is not even here! Leaving you alone like this. I would never do that to you, my love…never…!"_

"_What you would do or not do is of no consequence to me, Rebecca. You throw yourself at my feet like a petulant child and it does nothing but reaffirm that I made the right decision. Leave now or I shall toss you out the door on your backside." He stormed to the door and opened it. "I think you can see yourself out."_

_He saw Rebecca gasp at the ungentlemanly gesture, but he no longer cared about civility, not when it came to her. What a spoiled thing she was! He was shocked he'd never noticed it before. But, then again, if he had, he wouldn't have cared. She served her purpose physically, her personality didn't matter. Now that he saw her for what she really was, he knew he'd never go back. _

_Ever._

"Dear God…" Erik uttered softly. "That must have been where it happened..."

Isabella turned away, disgusted. "You admit it then, she was here. She left the earring."

"It would appear so. But before you form a conclusion; please allow me to explain what happened, why she was here…"

"No, I don't choose to hear an explanation." She interrupted. Why in the world would she want details of their elicit tryst?

"What?"

"If it's alright with you, Erik, I'd rather spend the rest of the evening in my room. I need time to let this sink in. I suppose it was foolish of me to think I could demand you to stop seeing her. I have to decide for myself whether or not I can live with that. So, if you will excuse me…" She turned and started for the door.

"No!" Erik jumped up and grabbed her arm forcefully, probably more than he should have, but there was no way he was letting her leave the library, not like this.

Isabella gasped as she felt her body being jerked backwards. "Erik, I said let me leave!"

He spun her around to face him, his face scowling, "Damn you. All you females….speaking, spouting off before you think. Never allowing a man to explain or defend himself. You _will_ listen to me before I let you leave this room."

She panted as his face came dangerously close to hers, his amber eyes darkening. Was it fear she felt rising inside her, causing her heart to begin racing? Or was it excitement?

"The earring is Rebecca's, I recognize it as she wore it often. She came here only once while you were gone and it was at least two weeks ago, under the pretext of finding a scarf. I was not sure of her honesty at that time, but allowed her in just the same." His breath in turn came in raspy puffs of hot air against her cheek. "She soon made it clear to me by her advances that she did not want our association to end, but I told her unequivocally that it had and to leave immediately. Her visit lasted no longer than ten minutes."

Then he let go of her arm and backed away.

"I have told you the truth, Isabella. It is up to you to choose whether or not you believe me."

At least that part had previously been corroborated by what Mary Ellen had told her. "If you are telling the truth, then how did this earring get in the chaise cushion? She removed it and let it drop there absentmindedly?"

"I cannot answer that. I did not pay enough attention to her that day to note if she wore earrings at all, much less if these were the ones."

Isabella still felt the lingering effect of Erik's grasp on her arm as she turned once more toward the door. When she reached there, she stopped with her hand on the knob, "As I said, I wish to be alone the rest of the evening to think about this."

Erik kept silent as the door shut behind her, but when he was finally alone and able to think, he knew in his heart what must have happened. He knew Mary Ellen cleaned and turned the chaise cushion at least twice a week, there was no way she could have missed it. It had to have been left by Rebecca during her last visit. Accident or not, he knew it would make Rebecca nothing but happy if Isabella left him to return to Wilmington and if it was with the last breath he had in his body, he'd do anything to prevent that.

* * *

A/N: Okay, this was definitely a longer chapter than the few I previously put up here. Thanks so much for the reviews again, they're helping me so much! I'm only starting Chapter 16 now, so it might be longer than usual to get it up, don't know yet. Life is getting in the way, but I promise you all, it will be completed! Thanks again!


	17. Chapter 17 Confessions and Cobwebs

A/N: Weren't too many reviews for last chapter, I think everyone really didn't like the fight between Isabella and Erik, but it's all for a purpose, as you'll read here. If you've read any of my other stories, you know how they all end. Until next week...thanks everyone for sticking with the story and reading faithfully! :)

* * *

Haven

Chapter Seventeen:

"It was awfully nice of you to give me your old shawl, Lil." Emily, Lady Wentworth's scullery maid said as she sat in the kitchen sipping the last of her bowl of hot soup. She fingered the soft shawl almost lovingly. "I had no idea you would wish to get rid of something so lovely."

But Lillian was barely paying attention. Not ten minutes before, she'd been in the hallway and watched as Isabella practically ran upstairs, her face showing obvious upset. She started up there to see about her, but stopped when Mary Ellen told her to return and keep her eye on Emily. Now it was all she was thinking about. Something about that earring had upset her and caused her to argue with Lord Erik. She heard it from the hall and she was sure Mary Ellen did also. She only hoped someone was tending to her mistress if she couldn't.

"Lil!" Emily popped her arm. "Did you hear a word I just said?"

"Oh, yes. You're welcome for the scarf…"

"I asked where you got it. I'd never seen you with it before."

"It was one that my sister sent me some time ago, that is all. I don't care for the color and as I have a couple more, I thought you might like it."

"My, aren't you a picky one, Lil. Having your choice of shawls as nice as this? Goodness, I would not know what to do in your place."

"Why? Because I have more than one shawl? I am no different than you, except for choice of ladies to work for."

"Yes," Emily tapped her finger on the edge of the bowl.

Now was the time. Her employer, Lady Wentworth had instructed her to go over to Haven and find some juicy gossip on Lady Haven. She'd never met the woman directly, but knew from Lillian that she was a nice enough lady. She didn't want to spy or gossip, it wasn't in her nature, but she also needed her job and when Lady Wentworth offered her twenty shillings extra in her pay to bring any information back, she practically flew out the door. In fact, she left in such a rush she forgot her shawl and half froze the way over. When Lillian inquired about it, she thought it was a good enough lie to get her inside. Little did she know she'd be treated to a new shawl and a hot meal.

"You do seem to have a nice employer in Lady Haven. Though, I do say you do not speak much about her. What is she like?"

Lillian smiled and tried to forget her lady's current state of mind for a moment, "I have not worked but for one mistress, given that Lord Erik was my first employer, but I have heard Mary Ellen and Teresa talking and they say that Lady Isabella is by far one of the kindest employers they have been around."

"Ay? What makes her so nice, then, nicer than any other?"

"Well, for one thing, she is teaching the staff to read and write, especially the children. I am very sure you do not see every mistress do that."

Emily caught herself gasping loudly, "You don't say! To read, really?" She wondered just how many more shillings Lady Wentworth would pay to hear this news.

"She told Lord Erik that everyone had the right to read. In fact, where she comes from in America, most everyone has access to some sort of education."

"And she keeps this secret? Well, she must, I suppose."

"I do not believe Lady Isabella cares if anyone finds out, she would surely defend herself against any accusations and I know Lord Erik would defend her also. But yes, I believe it would bring a lot of talk if people found out. I know there was already talk about her being from America and speculation about Lord and Lady's courtship."

"Their courtship? Why? Did they not meet under normal circumstance?"

"They met through her father, that is all I know." Lillian said. She didn't lie, yet she didn't reveal the whole truth. She knew that would get a lecture from Mary Ellen, no doubt."

"Umm…well, how many of the staff does she teach?" Emily asked, stuffing another bite of soup soaked bread in her mouth.

"There are around fifteen children and now she is helping about nine adults, including Teresa. She is doing quite well under the instruction, in fact."

"I have never heard of such a thing."

"In America, Lady Isabella was a school teacher, so naturally she would wish to teach here, but her duties prevent her from working in a proper school, but I believe she finds this more rewarding. Do you read, Emily?"

"Yes, I do. But if I did not, do you think she would teach me?"

Lillian nodded, "She can teach anything to anyone. Not just reading, but numbers, geography, she talks about different books all the time…poetry, novels and the like. I bet if I asked her, she could recommend a wonderful book for you."

"A book!" Emily laughed out loud. "When would I have time to read a book? I barely have enough time to hem my own clothing after working all day in the scullery. And I'm a lucky one. I do not have to get up until six, but Gwen, one of the housemaids, she has to get up at four in the morning to light the fires and begin breakfast. I swear to you, she does not retire until well after ten, most nights. Not that I do not think it would be nice to read, I just do not see when I could."

"You do have it hard, I am so sorry. I wish we had a position here for you. I get up early with Mary Ellen and we work hard all day, but Lord Erik has always insisted that we take some time at the end of our day to do something we enjoyed, such a reading. Lady Isabella is the same way. Of course, over time, when Lord and Lady decide to have children, we might be in need of another house servant and I would be glad to recommend you for the position. But as of right now, Teresa handles the scullery."

"Indeed, your Lady does sound like the perfect employer."

Lillian smiled and leaned in. "In truth, she is much more than that. She often eats with us, either here in the kitchen or even in the field kitchen with the workers. They are kind to her, very respectful and she likes to make sure they are well. She tends to their wounds and makes sure the children do not overwork themselves."

"My God! I do not believe Lady Wentworth has even been anywhere near the fields!" Emily shook her head in disbelief.

"Lady Isabella is American, so perhaps they do not think as we do. She has never treated me or the others as we were beneath her, not at all." Then she whispered, "I should not say, but that shawl is actually hers, not mine. She told me to give it to you. I told her you were cold and she insisted I bring you in here and give you hot soup and the shawl to remain warm."

Emily's bright blue eyes widened, "She did?"

"Yes. She was going to come and meet you, give you the shawl herself, but I told her you might not accept it that way."

"I do not need charity."

"It is not charity. She does this for anyone, no matter who it is. She cares for people, especially those of us who do not have as much. I assure you, she would never look down on you."

Emily rubbed the soft shawl around her shoulders and suddenly felt terrible about what she'd contemplated doing. Lady Haven seemed to be nothing but kind and generous and here she was, going to gossip to her mistress and cause her nothing but problems. But twenty shillings would go a long way to help her family. Basic respect wouldn't buy them food.

Lillian noticed Emily's sudden scowl and attributed it to her unwillingness to accept the gift. She reached over and touched her friend's hand, "Please, try to understand. Lady Isabella is only doing it to help you, not make you feel bad. Would you accept the shawl? Just forget I told you the truth, alright?"

"It is not that." Emily shrugged her shoulders, "It is…well, I…oh! I cannot do it! I cannot!"

"Please, please take it, you need it so!"

"No, not the shawl, Lil! I cannot betray your Lady!" Emily cried, burying her face in her calloused hands.

Lillian could only stare at her, curious. "What do you mean, betray? Betray her to whom? Tell me, please."

"Lady Wentworth…" she sniffed, "…she told me to come here, to find out gossip about Lady Haven. She told me if I found out anything remotely scandalous, she would give me an extra twenty shillings. I need the money, Lil. Need it so awful bad for my brothers and sisters! Papa hurt himself at the mill and he will be out of work for a month, at least. They have nothing but what little money Mama makes sewing and what I give them. Oh, what else could I do?"

"You were going to tell Lady Wentworth about Lady Isabella teaching, weren't you? That was why you were so interested. You were going to blab about everything I just said!"

"Yes, damn my soul, I was!" the young girl cried, "Please, do not tell anyone, promise me, Lil!"

"I do not know…"

"Please! I swear to you, I will not tell Lady Wentworth anything. Just don't tell your mistress what I was going to do. She seems so kind, I would not wish her any problems."

Lillian sighed, "Okay, I will keep silent, I promise."

Emily fell into Lillian's arms and sobbed. The poor girl! She had no idea just how bad it was for her to accept such a small amount to do so much damage to another human being. To betray Lady Isabella like that? She couldn't allow it. No matter what she promised Emily, she would make sure that either Lord Erik or Lady Isabella knew what had happened.

"Why would Lady Wentworth wish to hurt my Lady in such a way?"

"I do not know. All I know is she came to me and said, since you and I were friends, that she wanted me to come here and..."

"Lady Arrington, it has to be!" Mary Ellen's voice called out from behind them and they both turned, startled. She'd only been standing there but a few seconds, but it was more than enough to hear the true purpose of Emily's visit. Lady Isabella's inquiry and now Emily. The pieces finally fit. If she didn't think that Emily was so regretful, she would have had no problem strapping the young girl senseless.

"Lady Arrington?" Lillian asked her. "Why do you think it's her?"

"Lady Isabella came in from shopping this afternoon all flustered and worried. She asked me if Lady Arrington had been here at any time while she was in Wilmington. I told her I only knew of one time and that it had not been very long. Everyone was in town that day except Jarrod and he told me what happened. I relayed that to her and she seemed satisfied with it. When I asked her why she wanted to know, she merely answered that it was nothing but rumor, then went in to see Lord Erik in the library…."

"…but they argued."

"Yes, but what about, I do not know."

Lillian turned pale, "By God, I think I do."

Mary Ellen practically pounced on her, "What? Tell, girl!"

"After my talk earlier with Mum about Emily, I stood up from the chaise and an earring fell to the floor. I thought it was Lady Isabella's, but the way she looked at it, I am sure now it was not. She was very upset by it and it was not long after that, that I heard angry words between her and Lord Erik."

Emily gasped at what she just heard. "Oh my! A diamond earring?"

"Yes!" Lillian answered excitedly.

"What do you know of this?" Mary Ellen asked her.

"Anne Marie, one of our housemaids, she was talking to Lady Wentworth. She is friends with a maid from Lady Arrington's home and she told Anne Marie that Lady Arrington was screaming in panic that she had lost an earring just a couple of days before. Diamond with a blue stone of some sort, I believe. She said she was sure she had lost it during a visit to Lord Helsey. She only had the one left. She did not want to go back for the other one for fear of encountering Lady Helsey, so she was going to discard it. But Lady Wentworth suddenly became very anxious and immediately wrote a note and had Anne Marie take it directly to Lady Arrington."

"A note? What did it say?"

"She did not know. It was sealed and she never saw the contents."

"When did you hear this?"

"More than two weeks ago, I am sure of it. I had just returned from visiting with my family. I was coming in by the kitchen and I know they were not aware I was listening in."

"So, Lady Arrington came here with the one earring she had left and she slipped it in the chaise cushion, figuring one of us would find it when cleaning up. Maybe, assuming it was hers, we would turn it in the Lady Isabella when she returned? It had to be." Mary Ellen scratched her chin. "Lord Erik would never betray Lady Isabella, not after he promised her he would end his relationship with that woman. I must go tell her of this, now."

"No!" Emily screamed, leaping from her seat. "You cannot tell anyone what I have just said! If Lady Wentworth finds out I betrayed her, I would be thrown out in the street!"

Mary Ellen gripped the girl's shoulders as Lillian ran up behind her.

"There has to be a way to let Mum know what has happened, without getting Emily in trouble, right?" She asked desperately. "She could have gone to Lady Wentworth and spilled her guts but she didn't. We have to help her."

"There might be a way, but for right now, we must put complete trust in our Lord and Lady."

* * *

"I'm not over reacting, I know I'm not. Right?" Isabella asked herself as she paced around the bedroom. She'd been up there a good hour and after attempting to sew, read a book of poetry and write to her mother, all she could do was think about what happened in the library. It had nearly destroyed her to realize that he hadn't kept his promise, yet at the same time, the look on his face, the confusion he showed…he was adamant and his story was certainly plausible. Yet, she couldn't refute the evidence.

"He admitted it was her earring. He admitted she left it here. He admitted she came to visit while I was gone." She sighed as she paced so much she was sure she was wearing a hole in the rug. "Secrets, nothing but secrets…was this what he wanted to tell me earlier? Oh, I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."

That mask. Now, in retrospect, she kicked herself for not taking it off when she had the chance. Maybe seeing what was underneath would help her to understand his reasons for lying about Rebecca Arrington. And that music. She was sure she'd heard it not five minutes after she'd come up to her room and slammed the door. It may have ended quickly, but was the most sorrowful music she'd ever heard. If that was Erik playing and not some exquisitely talented ghost, what was driving such powerful music? Certainly, it couldn't be the fight. Was he truly as upset about it as she was? She craved answers, if nothing more than to get the truth to one thing that day. And there was only one way she could satisfy that need.

It lay behind the door of the mysterious room.

In the blink of an eye, she found herself standing one floor up, brushing the cobwebs off the bottom of her dark skirt. She stared blankly at the plain white painted door, observing the lack of those same cobwebs around the brass knob like it was when she first went up there.

"Umm…" she snorted curiously as she turned the knob and found it locked. No shock there, she sure didn't expect it to be open.

But it would have made it easier.

Taking no time to think of the consequences, she reached up and removed a hairpin from her hair as she bent over to examine the lock. This was a time where she could thank Jackson for this. Many times as children, they would use her mother's hairpins to break into the locked cabinet downstairs where their parents kept a secret stash of candy. She saw what he did enough times to memorize it. It would work, it had to work, there was no other way inside.

"Don't fail me now, Jackson…" she uttered as she inserted the hairpin in the lock and began wiggling it while turning the knob. "This can't be hard, you just twist this and move that around and…"

The door clicked open.

Isabella hitched her breath. There was no going back now. What would she find inside? Was it a room full of stolen treasure? Maybe there was a skeleton or two, those of the missing maids? "No, stop making up fairy tales", she uttered quietly. She steeled herself for whatever she might find, trumped up by her overactive imagination. And as she slowly pushed open the door, careful in case it might creak and give her away, she peeked inside to find…

….nothing.

Her eyes narrowed, the disappointment evident. "This is it?" she asked herself out loud. "This is what got that girl in trouble for snooping? An empty room?"

Well, not exactly empty, she found as she walked on inside. A couple of pictures on the wall, faded and unrecognizable. Thick drape-covered windows, long and narrow yet they, with the drapes pulled back, allowed a surprisingly large amount of light inside. Dust, lots of dust and...

…the largest, most beautiful black piano she'd ever seen.

"Ohh…" she uttered in awe as she approached it. It was polished so perfectly that she could see her reflection in its lacquered surface. So pristine, she opted not to touch it for fear of leaving her fingerprints. Instead, she chose to lift the cover in hopes of at least admiring and touching the lovely keys. Imported ivory from Africa, she was sure of. Nothing but the best for a piano of such quality.

She was right, they were indeed pure ivory keys. The urge became overwhelming. It had been so long since she'd played a piano and rusty as she was, she couldn't wait to sit down and allow her fingers to glide over those elegant keys, to just play something, the first thing that came to mind. Pathetique Sonata? Perhaps something from Chopin? But as she ran her fingers over the keys, something stopped her. Something not quite wet, not quite dry, but definitely sticky. A red substance. It was only on closer examination that she discovered what it was.

Blood.

She scowled as she reached in her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, determined to wipe off the keys. Yet, she stopped. No, Erik would certainly notice if she did that, even though it was apparent that he didn't care if it was there because he'd made no attempt to clean it himself or have anyone else do it. Some of the stains were older, as the color varied in degrees of red.

"Erik, what would make you play so much that it makes your fingers bleed?" she whispered to the air as her eyes scanned floral wallpapered walls. This was his big secret? An empty room with a piano? Nothing made sense. Why would he guard a piano with such ferociousness, determined to punish anyone who ever saw it? Worse yet, if he knew she'd seen it, would she now be subject to that punishment? The thought frightened her and suddenly, she had an urge to flee, run back to her room and forget she ever entered in the first place.

Unfortunately, that wouldn't be so easy.

No sooner than she'd closed the door to the mysterious room, secured the lock and made it to the stairs, than she felt a touch to her shoulder. She yelped and spun around, sure it was Erik. He'd caught her and no telling what he'd do with her now. But luckily, to her relief, it was just Lillian.

"Oh heavens!" she clutched at her heart. "You scared me to death!"

"I am sorry, but I could not find you in your room, Mum, what are you doing here? You know it is not a good idea to come to this door." Lillian whispered. She took Isabella's arm as she anxiously darted her eyes around.

"I…just thought I heard that music again and wanted to see where it was coming from."

Lillian quickly led Isabella back to the staircase, "I did not hear any music this time, Mum."

"It was earlier, I…never mind…" she waved her hand, "why were you looking for me? I told Mary Ellen I wanted to be alone."

"Yes, Mum. It is about Emily, please, could you come to the kitchen?"

"Is she ill?"

"No, not ill, but worse, I am afraid."

Isabella nodded and practically ran to the kitchen. Worse? What could that mean?"

* * *

"Jarrod!" Erik screamed from the top of the staircase, anger building steadily with each passing second. That old fool! He'd better learn to follow his rules or he'd be sorry.

"Yes, my Lord!" Jarrod nearly busted his hip running up the stairs. He recognized the tone of his master's voice and figured he'd best be fast, something had upset him.

Erik pointed two floors up where his piano room was. "What in the bloody hell were you thinking?"

Jarrod looked up at the room, but for the life of him, he was clueless as to what had angered his master. "I do not understand, my Lord. What has happened?"

Erik lowered his voice, but growled, "I told you to only polish the piano two days a week, no more than that. Otherwise, I wished to have nothing else touched. Why did you go in there today?"

Jarrod's eyes widened and he gasped. "I have not been in there today, I swear to you." He was shocked, knowing Erik knew him better than that. He'd never gone in there without his permission. "Why would you think I had?"

"You did not close the cover to the keys, that is why!"

"My Lord, why would I need to open the cover? You told me specifically never to touch the keys. The last time I was in there to polish the lacquer, the cover was closed, as always."

Erik stopped his tirade and stared blankly at Jarrod. He knew from his expression that the man was telling the truth. Now, his mind raced. In his haste to leave the room earlier, had he forgot to cover the keys? He'd never made such an oversight before, but it didn't mean he was immune.

"The cover was up, my Lord?"

"Yes, it was." Erik's voice was much calmer. "I was sure I covered the keys before I left, but maybe I did not. I decided to go back and play for a few more minutes. When I sat down, I notice the cover already up. I lost my head and assumed you were the culprit. Forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive, my Lord." Jarrod assured him. No, Erik was too sharp of a man to neglect something so routine. True, he hadn't played in years until recently, but until that time, he'd never left without making sure everything was perfect. There had to be an explanation. "Was the door locked when you went inside?"

"Yes, I had to unlock it as I always do."

Jarrod scratched his head, thinking. Although Mary Ellen had been quizzing him incessantly about the playing coming from the room, she had not made any effort to enter it. She feared Lord Erik's wrath as all the house staff did. That left only one person in the house besides Lord Erik and he shuddered to think of the possibility. It just couldn't be her, not Lady Isabella. Had she heard the music too? And if she did and chose to investigate, how could she get in through a locked door?

"I know you have been distracted since your argument with Lady Isabella earlier, perhaps you simply neglected it this time." He hated lying, but he couldn't single her out and risk her being accused, not until he could ask her himself.

Erik sighed deeply, already regretting having taken the risk to play while Isabella was so nearby. Yes, he'd played before knowing she was around, but it had been at night when she was asleep. Today, however, he had to expel the emotions that were eating him up inside before he exploded. In her room, he felt Isabella wouldn't be able to hear him. Once again, the urge was too great, he had to go back inside.

"Where is Isabella now?" he asked.

"I believe she is still in her bedroom. She has not been out, to my knowledge, so she could be resting."

"Keep an eye on her door, I need to play before dinner. If you see her leave the bedroom for any reason, alert me."

"Yes, my Lord." Jarrod answered as he watched Erik go quickly up the stairs and disappear into the piano room.

* * *

"The nerve of that woman!" Isabella exclaimed after standing in the kitchen and hearing Lillian, Mary Ellen and Emily practically trying to out talk one another as they recounted the events surrounding Lady Wentworth and Rebecca. The maids felt it was best to tell it all at once in hopes of softening the impact. Unfortunately, they were wrong.

"What could she possibly gain by anything said here today?"

Emily was shaking, completely beside herself. She could do nothing but shrug.

"I do not know, my Lady, but I can assure you, she would have tried. I had no idea that her and Lady Rebecca even knew one another. But, after what Emily has said, it appears they are at least acquaintances." Mary Ellen said.

"It makes sense now why Lady Wentworth didn't appear to have a carriage nearby waiting for her today. She was heading for Rebecca's carriage instead." Isabella added confidently. "If we had only stayed a few seconds longer, we could've seen her get into it."

"What are you going to do, Mum?"

"I don't know yet, Lillian. Emily, you said you were going to be paid how much for information?"

"Twenty shillings, my Lady." Emily answered meekly, still afraid.

Isabella reached into the pocket of her gown and brought out a handful of coins she'd put there earlier while out with Elizabeth. She always had some available to hand to the children who came to panhandle. Elizabeth had warned her against it, telling her she would be flooded with beggars, but she didn't care. She was always amused by the little schemes they came up with to get her to give them a shilling or two. They were creative, she gave them that. Moreover, they needed it. She kept that little secret from Erik, as she felt he wouldn't approve.

She counted out twenty shillings and put them on the table in front of Emily. "Hide them from Lady Wentworth well, or better yet, I shall have Mister Godard drive you to your family's home and you can give some of it to them. Mary Ellen…pack up some of this day old bread for them too. It's still very good and it would just go to waste otherwise."

"Yes, my Lady." Mary Ellen answered.

"No, I cannot take your money!" Emily cried, shoving the coins back towards Isabella. "You have been kind enough not to lash me for what I was going to do, I need nothing else."

"Nonsense. Your father is out of work and your family needs to buy necessities. Take it. If anything but a thank you for keeping quiet."

"But you have not heard it all yet, Mum." Lillian spoke up from where she was standing by Emily, her arm around her friend.

"There's more? What could be worse than Lady Wentworth wanting gossip on me?"

Lillian looked over at Mary Ellen, who had finished gathering up the bread and was wrapping it in a cloth. She looked over at Isabella and coughed.

"Tell me, Mary Ellen."

"We both know of the fight between you and Lord Erik. Although we do not know all that was said, we can assume what it pertained to."

"Really now? What would that be?"

Mary Ellen reached in her pocket and pulled out the earring and put it on the table next to the coins. While Lillian had gone to get Isabella, Mary Ellen had gone to the library and found it sitting on the chaise cushion, no doubt where it had been left, discarded after the terrible words that passed between her Lord and Lady.

Isabella stared at it, then back to the gazing women. "Yes, we argued over that. It was in the chaise cushion, left there by Lady Arrington after the visit you told me about."

"But you were mistaken, my Lady. Emily knew of the earring, she recognized Lillian's description of it. The other one had been left by Lady Arrington after a…uh…visit to Lord Helsey…"

"…Lord Helsey. He was at the dinner party Erik threw for me." Isabella interrupted. Yes, she remembered him well. "Tall, thin fellow, whose nose whistled when he ate."

"Yes, my Lady, the same. Anyway, Lady Arrington was going to get rid of the other earring rather than bother going to Lord Helsey for it, his wife you know… she is not a very agreeable sort. Yet, Lady Wentworth wrote her not to."

"What? Why on earth would she care about an earring?" she asked, but then stopped and gasped, "Wait, do you think Lady Wentworth instructed Rebecca to leave the earring here?"

"Yes, so you would find it and think they were still…" Lillian answered excitedly. "See? They were trying to cause the two of you to fight."

"Which is exactly what we did." The color drained from Isabella's cheeks and she sunk down onto the small stool at the table. How could she have been so foolish? It all made sense. Erik had been telling the truth all along, yet she couldn't put her stupid pride behind her enough to listen to reason. She was sure he'd breached their trust and now she had gone and done the same thing by entering his secret room, only now she's the only guilty one. If she'd heard this upstairs in her room, she definitely would have contemplated throwing herself off the balcony.

"My Lady, are you alright?" Lillian patted her hand, worried. It instantly confirmed it for all of them that the fight had been much more upsetting than they first estimated. No telling what words were exchanged that were not loud enough to hear. "Maybe we should not have been so blunt."

Isabella just waved her hand, "It's not that. I…"

"I must go." Emily said, rising swiftly to her feet. "I know Lady Wentworth will be waiting for me."

"What are you going to tell her?" Lillian asked as she handed her the bread and her shawl.

"I do not know, Lil. Probably nothing, I suppose."

"You do need that extra twenty shilling she promised. That would go a long way with what I just gave you." Isabella interrupted, coming closer to Emily.

"But my Lady, if I have nothing to tell her, she won't pay me."

"Let's give her something then."

All three maids inhaled in shock so loudly that it caused Isabella to burst out laughing.

"Like what?" Mary Ellen asked her.

"Umm…what about me teaching the staff to read? Erik said it was something that just wasn't done by a lady of the estate."

"You want her to know about that?"

"Sure, why not? I'm not breaking any laws and if she tells anyone, then it will confirm that she spread it since I know she's the only one that knows. People might talk, but what can they do about it otherwise? I think she might like it, think it juicy enough, use it to her advantage and eventually, it will burn out. It works for everyone. She gets her gossip and Emily gets her shillings."

"If you say so, my Lady." Mary Ellen said, patting Emily on the back and slipping the coins into her pocket. "Best you go now, girl. Keep that money safe until you can get to your family."

"Are you sure you don't want me to get Mister Godard to take you there?"

"No, thank you, my Lady. I'm expected shortly."

The three of them watched as Emily walked out the back door of the kitchen into the cold, early evening air. Once she was safely away, they all let out a breath of relief.


	18. Chapter 18 Behind the Mask

Haven

Chapter Eighteen:

"_That's all you ever do, Erik. Play, play play. I think you find that piano more appealing than me most days." Sabine groaned, standing behind Erik's back, in a most foul mood. "You realize if you continue, we will be late for L'Étoile." _

_Erik only sighed as his fingers continued to play a tune that eluded him. Who cares if they were late? No production at the Théâtre des Bouffes Parisiens started on time anyway. Didn't she understand just how important it was that he finish the aria? He recalled that it wasn't that long ago that Sabine couldn't get enough of his music. How she would sit for hours on end by the big window, her eyes closed, a look of true heartfelt contentment on her face. She would give her opinion if asked and always applaud at the conclusion of a long, hard fought piece, seemingly thankful and appreciative of the effort it took to create it._

_But that was long gone._

_He finally stopped and looked back at her. "I just need to get this last piece down on paper. Be patient, darling, I won't be much longer." He then turned away from her and began to scribe the notes furiously; desperate to get them down before they were lost._

"_You always say that! Be patient, be patient, I am sick of it!" she mocked him, throwing her hands in the air in her usual dramatic fashion. Angrily, she spun around and started for the door, but this time, she stopped just short and Erik could hear her panting. That typical, long winded pant that she built up inside just before she burst into a huge tirade. He halted his writing and sat down his fountain pen. When he turned his head, ready to see her in a rage, he was shocked to see that she was still facing the door, frozen, her hand on the knob. She gripped it so hard that her knuckles turned white._

"_Sometimes…" she began slowly, almost methodically, "I wish I could set that disgusting piece of black lacquered wood on fire and remove it from my life."_

_Remove it from her life? Her life. It finally sunk in. It was all about her now. It used to be about them, about their life together. They shared everything, love, hate, comedy, tragedy. What was happening to her, what was happening to them? He inhaled painfully, feeling as if he'd just been stabbed through the heart._

"_Sabine." He breathed slowly, unsure how to answer such a hostile statement._

"_You would protect it with your life, would you not?" her voice drifted away, slowly away as if she really needed, nor wanted a true answer. She knew it already._

"_Sabine."_

"_The carriage has pulled up outside. Please gather your coat, it is chilly. I shall wait for you downstairs." She replied quickly. With a defeated sounding exhale, she walked out the door, leaving nothing in her wake but the scent of delicate perfume._

_And like the dutiful man he'd become, Erik closed the cover to his piano, rose slowly and followed her._

Erik slowly sank down onto the piano stool, staring longingly into a distant, empty space. His fingers ran along the smooth surface of the top, allowing his eyes to drift to the ivory keys. They were stained with blood, his blood, but he didn't care. There was a time that he would play, years and years ago that his fingers bled even worse. Obsession. Compulsion. No word could describe the hell he would go through to write a piece of music. Inspiration seemed to come from everywhere, the birds singing, the water rustling over the small creek behind the estate, it didn't matter. Once he had the song in his head, he didn't put head to pillow until it was on paper. He loved music. He ate it, drank it. He breathed it. Even then he didn't want to let that all go…the piano… or Sabine.

Unfortunately, both were lost in the end.

And he was sure he'd never go back.

But, just as a returning faith, he began to play again. But for a very different reason. Even when he'd returned to his family home and he purchased another piano, equal in every way to his previous one, he locked it up in an old room, the only room he never bothered to restore. He shut it away along with his memories of Sabine. Until he met Isabella Rose Hawkins. This time, he didn't strive to write music, to get it on the paper and become a famous artist. He now played to satisfy, no, to drive away an undeniable passion, drive it away before it turned him inside out. It was something he never did for Sabine. Only for Isabella. Because he knew if he didn't, it would drive him mad.

The music flowed from his fingers to the keys as if some other person was playing, just guiding his hands like a marionette to his lifeless puppet. Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to pour out the music.

The fight. The accusation. He could still see her face as she threw the earring down onto the chaise beside him. He heard his mind scream at him to deny it, to deny she was ever there at all, that he'd never seen the earring before in his life, but no, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He'd promised Thomas he would be honest in every way.

What good it did. She still became angry and he'd answered it with his own. Taken her arm, pulled her close to him.

_The music coming from him, angrier and angrier. _

Pulled her so close he could have kissed her again. Again, like before where he was sure he'd tasted utopia, held it in his very hands.

_The notes stronger, more forceful, but still eloquent, flowing, surrounding every inch of him._

He'd seen her eyes; he saw the fear, the uncertainty, the doubt. Would he snap, would he harm her? He felt her pull against him, knowing she was desperate to get away, but he didn't want to let her go. He wanted her to understand……_pounding, driving notes, his fingers painful and burning_….to realize that he'd been honest, he'd kept his promise. Oh, Isabella! How he just wanted her to know everything, then they could live together in peace. No more secrets, no more lies, no more anger.

He panted, slowly bringing the music down from its apex to a slow, more even pace. Yes, perhaps she just needed time to think, to realize she'd judged him harshly. That was all. He allowed a smile to form as a lighthearted tune now filled the empty room. Isabella was an intelligent, reasonable woman. Dinnertime would come and they'd talk, he was sure of it.

* * *

"Can a thirsty man get some water around here, woman?" Dùghall's voice echoed in the kitchen as he burst inside the door. Both Isabella and Lillian turned around, nearly leaping out of their skins. Good thing Mary Ellen had left to check on the wash or they were both sure she would have slapped him. The poor woman hated to be startled and Dùghall was always doing just that. Everyone, including her, knew it was on purpose.

"Mister Godard!" Lillian exclaimed.

His eyes gazed upon the lovely, blonde haired maid as he walked inside, his firm body sweating from hard work, cheeks flush from the cold. Sans his thick, dirt covered coat, his sleeves were rolled up, showing off well defined arms. He ran a single hand through the dark hair that just barely touched his shoulder. My, but Lillian was breathtaking when she blushed, he thought to himself. Yet, the reason for it was enigmatic. "So, it's suddenly Mister Godard? Why so formal all of a sudden, lovely one?" he asked, then paused in confusion when Lillian coughed and threw a glance Isabella's way.

Dùghall almost fainted when he saw her standing not ten feet away.

"Good afternoon, Mister Godard." Isabella said with an amused grin, trying her best to contain her laughter.

"Oh! Forgive me, my Lady!" he bowed his head. "I did not see you there when I came inside. I have not known you to be in the kitchen this time of day. I was unaware you had returned from Essex…" he stuttered.

"I know you couldn't see me from the angle of the table. It's alright, Dùghall."

The man froze again. She'd just called him by his given name.

"I'm going to call you Dùghall, if that's fine with you. Erik told me it was acceptable now that you were allowed in the house. I'm also going to have the staff call you that. I think it just sounds better, don't you agree, Lillian?"

Lillian, who for the past half minute had been just as frozen in shock as Dùghall was, choked on her breath. It made a wheezing sound and Isabella couldn't help but let turn away and cover her mouth or risk laughing right in the young woman's face.

"Sorry, Mum."

"Nonsense." She replied between snickers. "There's no need to be so formal about it. You two really need to lighten up."

"Yes, Mum."

Dùghall mimicked, "Yes, my Lady."

Then, an awkward hush crept slowly between them.

Isabella's eyes darted between both Lillian and Dùghall, making an unspoken bet in her mind as to which one would speak first and break the silence. She'd put her money on Lillian, as she kept opening her mouth, but then shutting it just as fast, although Dùghall would lean forward as if he wanted to say something as well. Were the two of them this embarrassed to have her here, witnessing their obvious affections? Maybe she should stay, remain quiet just for the fun of it, but she hated the tension that was building. Oh, forget it!

"Lillian!"

"Mum?" the poor skittish thing jumped.

"Are you going to get the man some water or what?"

"Yes, Mum, of course." She ran to the sink and filled up a mug with water and brought it back to Dùghall so quickly, Isabella couldn't even get a pleasantry out of her mouth.

"Thank you, Lillian." He smiled and once again, she blushed.

"How are you today, Dùghall?" Isabella asked.

"Very well, my Lady, thank you for asking. And yourself? When did you return from Essex?" he turned up the mug and downed half of water in one shot. Some drops fell from the side of the mug, dribbling from his jaw, down his neck and disappearing into his shirt, but not before it met with a few dark hairs along the way.

Both women watched the event with most profound earnest.

Isabella cleared her throat and looked away. No, she wasn't a teenager anymore, but she sure wasn't immune to a handsome man.

She smiled to herself and wondered what Erik would think if he found out that she'd insisted that 'Mister Godard's' shirt was too dirty to wear inside the house, therefore he had to remove it. Immediately. And wear nothing else the rest of the day. Who cares if it's snowing outside. A man with such a demanding job should never have to bother with something as cumbersome as a shirt getting in his way.

Finally, she reluctantly shook the lovely thought and turned back to the young man, "I had a very relaxing time, thank you. I've been back a while, but was tending to other matters. In fact, I have let the time slip away, so I suppose I should freshen up before dinner. If you will both excuse me."

"I will assist you, Mum!" Lillian declared and Dùghall raised his brows at her. He hadn't stood around the kitchen for his health, work was pending. He'd hoped maybe he could steal a few moments with Lillian before returning. Those hopes were dashing quickly.

"You remain here for a moment, Dùghall, she'll come back." Isabella told him, then took Lillian by the arm and walked her out of the kitchen.

"Mum?" her face showed confusion at the insistent way her mistress had pulled her away. Wasn't it her duty to take care of her needs? She couldn't stay in the kitchen with Dùghall, no matter how much she wanted to.

"Lillian. I don't need help freshening up and you know it. I was going to leave you in there with Dùghall, but I needed to make sure everything in regards to Lady Wentworth was set."

"Yes, Mum. After dinner, I am to visit with some of my friends and let it slip about you teaching the staff to read. Emily understands to stall as long as possible with her news. So, by the time Lady Wentworth can use the information, everyone will already know."

"You said the word of servants travels very fast."

"I assure you, by tomorrow afternoon, most every Lord and Lady in the county will know of this. But, are you sure you wish to open yourself up to such talk, Mum? There is still time to stop it."

"I've thought about it and yes, I'm sure. I knew eventually it would come out about what I was doing. Best to let it out by my own mouth than the mouth of another, wouldn't you agree?" Isabella gave a confident and self assured smirk.

Lillian nodded, "This will anger Lady Wentworth when it fails."

"Good. Old battle axe. Sticking her nose where it's not welcome. Next time, however, we'll have to be more careful because she'll be sneakier."

"Of course."

"Now, you go see about your Mister Godard. He's waiting."

"Mum, he is not…he is…"

"Lillian. It's obvious how the two of you feel for one another. Don't worry about what's right or wrong. Just declare it." Isabella puffed up her chest elaborately and took Lillian's hand, "I, as Lady of this…Haven Manor, do give you permission to not only speak of your love for one Dùghall Godard, but to make sure he speaks it for you as well, thus bringing forth a wonderful courtship and….uh…stuff like that."

Lillian giggled, then hugged Isabella in her elation. Just a millisecond later, she realized what she'd done, overstepping her bounds. She tried to pull away, but Isabella held tight to the embrace and she knew it was fine.

"Scoot…I must go speak to Erik now. Pray it goes well."

Lillian looked at Isabella and felt terrible for allowing her own happiness to overshadow the sadness of the situation, even for a few moments.

"You are frightened, aren't you, Mum? About Lord Erik I mean, so terribly frightened he will not forgive you."

"I misjudged Erik so severely, Lillian." Isabella replied softly. "I just naturally assumed with what Lady Wentworth told me today, then coming back here and finding…oh, I can't even begin to think of how I'll make amends."

"But you will." Lillian took her hand, "Here, let me walk you to the library and we can…"

Both women stopped cold.

That music again.

"Do you hear that, Mum?" Lillian whispered.

"Yes."

As if being led by a pied piper, both women walked from the hall into the foyer where they stopped by the staircase. The music was intoxicating! At first, it appeared thundering and full of raw power, but the longer they stood listening, the more it lessened in intensity but increased in emotion.

"Erik."

Lillian shot a glance her way. "Confirmed, Mum?"

She nodded and started up the staircase, "It will be in about thirty seconds."

Only when Isabella passed by the first two floors did she gasp, "No, Mum…" It was a warning, but due to her entrancement by that music, it came out a whisper.

"Go…walk outside with Dùghall. Do not disturb us until dinner."

"It is not wise…"

"Just do as I say."

* * *

How long she stood at the door before her senses kicked in, she may never know. The music was just something far beyond anything she'd ever heard before. Nothing like Bach, Beethoven, Chopin…much deeper, heartfelt. Alive. What came from this man's soul to bring such captivating compositions?

Her hand turned the knob, expecting it to be locked. She'd have to knock and thus end the music. She knew she'd regret that. Yet, before she could inhale another breath, the door clicked, opening just enough for her eyes to see inside.

Same empty walls, rose embellished wallpaper.

Same long, narrow windows covered with thick drapes.

Same black piano, so shiny the last afternoon sunset gleamed off of it, turning it orange and almost blinding her.

Moved by the music, she walked further inside, inching closer, closer until her eyes fell upon a figure rising from the bench, swaying deeply, fingers moving furiously on the white keys, so obviously spotted in red. New, fresh blood.

The right side of his body was facing her direction and she noticed the absence of his jacket, sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearm, no vest, no cravat and…

…no mask!

Her mouth flew open in a silent gasp as her eyes fell on the white mask lying leisurely on top of the piano, previously hidden by the bright sunset, now exposed by the shadow of a passing cloud. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the side of his face for the first time without the covering.

He'd been burned. Half his face was almost missing down to the bone, covered by only a thin veil of skin. Red, whelted, angry skin. Creases and valleys, streaks and patches of light and dark all combined together, as if the work of Frankenstein in Mary Shelley's frightening novel. She understood now why he was apprehensive about letting her see it. Oh God, if she'd removed it in the library, she couldn't have hidden her shock. Thank goodness she was seeing it now, in private and he would never have to know she did….

Except, the music suddenly ended with an abrupt roar of fingers pounding multiple keys at once.

And, panting deeply, she threw her hand over her heart, the impact of such intoxicating music was so great, her body could barely handle its exit. It was as if the sun exploded into a million unrecoverable pieces, leaving the world in cold, damp permanent darkness.

"No!" Erik screamed as he saw Isabella standing there in shock. How did she get in there? How much had she seen? He fumbled for the mask, fingertips of blood smearing on it as he threw it over his face.

"How long have you been there?" his voice roared, carrying it long and loud across the vastness of the empty room.

Isabella couldn't force words from her throat. She wanted to tell him it wasn't his face that upset her, but she couldn't, she just couldn't. Say something, anything!

"Answer me!" he leapt to his feet, slamming the cover down, causing it to resonate like an angry clap of thunder.

She squealed in fright, but managed to utter a faint, "I just came to…talk…to…you…"

Erik stared at her, devastated. Where the hell was Jarrod? Why didn't he see her leave her room and stop her, scream a warning, anything? Get her out of here, away from him!

"Go away." He growled.

"Erik. Erik, please. I didn't mean to see…" she gestured around the room. "I didn't mean to disturb you…"

"Go away."

"Please, let's talk about this…"

"Did you not hear me, Isabella? I said go…go to your room, _now_! Lock the door!" he lunged at her and in a panic, she screamed and fled the room. Mary Ellen was right. He'd done something to those other maids who saw the room. What would be her fate? She ran so fast down the stairs she almost tripped, but she gripped her skirts and made it to her room. Per his instructions, she slammed the door and locked it tight, even wedging a chair in front of the knob for good measure before throwing herself on the bed. She buried her head in the pillow, panting.

Then she cried. Hard.

* * *

"Jarrod!" Erik was in a rage, storming around the room, slamming his fists on the piano.

Jarrod had already heard Isabella scream and only saw a flash of her gown as she darted down the stairs. He panicked. She'd been in the room, she'd seen, she knew. And Lord Erik was angry. He ran quickly to him.

"My Lord, I swear to you, I never saw her exit her room, she must have been somewhere else in the house when you came up here!" he exclaimed, throwing out the first frantic apology he could.

Erik couldn't respond. He knew that must have been what happened. The old man may be deaf, but he wasn't blind and would never have left his post for anything. No, she heard the music and came from wherever she was to find its source. It entranced her, as it had so many others, forcing her to follow, willing or not. Damn it all! He had to play and now she saw him without the mask, when he was unprepared to take her shock!

"She saw, didn't she?" Jarrod asked timidly inching into the room.

Defeated, he sank down once again onto the piano stool, "Yes."

"What are you going to do, my Lord?"

Carefully, his eyes gazed upwards at the weary looking butler and spoke with such a defeated tone, the man was almost unrecognizable. "I do not know, Jarrod. I do not know."

* * *

"Mum?" Lillian knocked softly, perplexed as to why Isabella was not only resting in the late afternoon, but why she'd locked her door. "Mum, are you unwell?"

Isabella rose from where she laid on her pillow. _Unwell_? She laughed to herself. Unwell didn't even begin to describe what she was feeling.

Exhausted from her long tirade of weeping, she walked to the door, removed the chair and unlocked it. "Come in." Quickly, she turned away and darted into her bathroom, so Lillian wouldn't see her current state. She was sure she looked dreadful.

She was right. The image reflected off the mirror didn't even look like her. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Her ivory skin was streaked in red from her tears. Her lips were dry and cracked, most likely from her overwhelming thirst.

"Mum, Teresa is serving dinner, did you freshen up?"

She groaned irritably. _Thirsty in here, water out there_. She coughed and gave a valiant effort to speak normally despite the dry lump in her throat. "I am doing that now, Lillian. I was…reading and lost track of the hour."

Lillian paused and listened for further explanation, but got none. This was highly unusual. Isabella hardly ever read in her room, and if she did, never with the door locked. Yet, who was she to question? "Very well, then. If you do not need me, I shall go downstairs."

"No, I'm fine, go ahead. And Lillian?"

"Yes, Mum?"

"Is Erik going to be at dinner?" she held her breath as her voice barely squeaked out the question.

"Why yes, as always. He is there now, awaiting you."

Yes, formal gentleman he was, he never had dinner served until she was seated at the table. But tonight? She was sure he'd skip dinner. In fact, she'd contemplated having a plate brought to her room so she could avoid him. But he was _awaiting_ her. Perhaps it was a good idea, he must have calmed down by now and they could really talk. Her heart lightened slightly as her mind began thinking of a million ways to apologize.

"Then tell him I will be down shortly."

"I will."

A short silence fell in the room. Isabella knew Lillian hadn't left, she didn't hear footsteps.

"Lillian?"

Nothing.

"I know you haven't left. What's on your mind?"

"Mum. I heard the music play for a long time after I returned to the house."

Her eyes closed and she let the air seep from her lungs, "Yes."

"Did you have your talk with Lord Erik?"

"No."

"_Answer me!" _

"_I just came to…talk…to…you…"_

"_Go away."_

No was right, she wouldn't have exactly called that 'a talk'.

"Why not?"

She gripped the sides of her wash basin, her head dropping, resisting the urge to yell at her to go away and leave her alone. It was apparent she had no clue what happened, despite the fact that Jarrod had been nearby. At least, she assumed it was Jarrod. All she saw in her flight was a tall figure running towards her as she turned and flew down the staircase. Why didn't he tell the staff what he saw? No, it wasn't Lillian's fault. They'd grown close and could tell each other anything. So, why would the girl assume this time was any different?

It _was_ different because she'd encountered, heard, _seen_ a part of Erik that was beyond anything that would take mere words to clarify.

"I'll explain later, just go downstairs."

She held her breath again until she heard Lillian's footsteps exit the room and the door shutting.

She splashed her face with ice cold water, hating how blunt she'd spoke to Lillian, but it was necessary. If she had talked about it, she was sure she wouldn't have been able to get it out of her mouth without crying again. And she couldn't afford that. Erik was waiting on her and she needed to be ready.

* * *

Erik sat at the end of the long dining room table, his hand on its dark surface, fingers interlocked. Patiently he waited for Isabella to join him. At first, he wasn't sure he could even go down to dinner, but he decided that he wasn't going to let what happened spoil his evening. He could do this, he could put on an air of simple, aloof courtesy, just the way he did when they first met. It was better this way. She'd seen him without the mask, she'd seen the room. While he couldn't very well send her away as he had those snooping maids, he could do the next best thing, shut himself off emotionally. The trust was broken and he wasn't sure if that could ever be repaired.

Yet, when she walked into the dining room, her beauty once again overtook his reason and he almost considered rising from the table, running to her and embracing her.

Almost.

Instead, he rose halfway in his seat, then sat down and spoke as calmly as he could.

"You were unusually late this evening."

Now, that wasn't half bad.

Right, it wasn't half bad, it was all bad.

Isabella stared at Erik as Jarrod pushed her seat in. "My apologies, I was…delayed in my room." She answered him with the same, cold civility.

Erik nodded and waited for their dinner to be served by Teresa and Jarrod, then he instructed them not to return until called for.

Jarrod nodded, understandingly, but Teresa started at them both, then at Jarrod, who finally tugged at the woman's sleeve and they both exited obediently.

"My earlier behavior, although justified, was obviously out of line. I apologize for that." Erik told Isabella.

Isabella nearly downed the entire glass of wine in one shot. False courage, but courage nonetheless.

"I gave you cause and for that, I'm sorry as well. I betrayed your trust in more than one way, I fear..." She kept her face downward, the words drifting away. She knew if she saw his eyes, she'd fall apart and flee before saying what she had to say. She waited patiently for Erik to respond, to inquire further about her statement, but all he did was turn away.

More than an uncomfortable quarter hour passed as they both tried to nibble on their food. It was delicious as always, but given the circumstances, neither had much of an appetite. They merely kept their heads low and gave momentary glances at one another, both silently trying to bait the other to talk first.

"More than one way?" Erik finally asked after the urge gnawed at him too much. It wasn't that he didn't want to hear what she had to say, but the sound of her voice… defeated, meek, soft … that he couldn't bear to listen to.

"Pardon?" her eyes shot up and met his.

Big mistake. She could finally see that they were just as bloodshot as hers were. He'd been crying too and her heart sank to know she was the cause of it.

"You said you betrayed my trust more than…"

"Yes." She replied very carefully, gathering the courage that had been lost just earlier. "I'm afraid that I was… wrong… about the earring."

That was something Erik didn't expect. He froze and stared at her.

"The earring."

"Yes." She began, knowing she would have to say it quickly and in one breath. "See, I never told you, but earlier today, I saw Lady Wentworth in Essex and she said that there was a rumor circulating around her staff that Lady Arrington had visited here on at least three occasions, including while I was away. So, it appears that when she was here last, she left the earring in the chaise. On purpose, I believe."

He laid down his fork and leaned forward, curious. "On purpose. Why?"

"To discredit you in my eyes. Which, as you know, was exactly what happened."

"This is an incredible accusation, what proof do you have of this?"

"A maid from Lady Wentworth's home. Mind you, it is only talk from one maid to another, but it makes sense." She began talking, fueled by Erik's apparent interest. "She said Lady Arrington lost the other earring while visiting with another gentleman and was going to discard it, but Lady Wentworth sent her a letter. What was in the letter is unknown, but it had to be telling her to come here and plant the earring. My assumption is that Mary Ellen would find it and either hold it until I got home and give it to me, or she would return it to my jewelry box and I'd find it later. So, you see, I should have believed you when you said she was only here for a short time. I can't tell you how sorry I am."

Erik looked down and his hand paused on his wine glass, taking everything in. Lady Wentworth and Rebecca conspiring to tear apart his marriage? It was preposterous. He knew Rebecca wanted him back, but to go to this extreme? And Lady Wentworth? What would be her motive for taking part? Why would she even care?

"If I were to believe such nonsense, what did you want me to do about it?"

_Nonsense_? Isabella sat straight up in her chair. "Nothing. I didn't tell you this with the implication that you do something. I just wanted you to know… I was wrong. I… should have trusted you, believed in you. I don't know how to even begin to atone for it. I just… oh, never mind." She dropped her head in her hands, unsure how to make sense of her own babble.

"No, continue, this is most enlightening." The sarcasm showed and it began to anger her. She'd just poured out her heart, why was he treating it with such callousness?

"I was just going to say that I heard the music and came to find you, to apologize. I thought the door would be locked but it opened and I saw. No, I shouldn't have seen, but I did. I did the very thing that I accused you of, breaking a trust."

"That, I agree on. You had no business up there."

"I know, Erik. I'm very sorry." She said through clinched teeth. _Just accept the apology so we can go on, will you?_

"Sorry for what? Seeing the room, seeing me play or seeing my horrid face?"

"Your face is not horrid!"

"I saw you, Isabella! You stood there, gawking as if I was some freak in a circus!"

"That's not true! I was in shock because of the way your music ended, not your face!" she screamed back, then took two long breaths before continuing, "It is apparent you were burned, somehow. Yes, it is disconcerting to see at first, I can't lie about that, but that was not the reason for my extreme reaction."

"Disconcerting." He mocked her, "How you play with words, _my dear_, how intelligently you play with words to suit your needs."

She inhaled sharply, insulted.

"How can you treat my feelings so flippantly? I just apologized, opened my heart to you. I was hoping maybe it would allow you to open up to me, tell me what tragedy caused this," she gestured toward the mask, "to reestablish trust between us."

That made Erik burst out in a brief, but sarcastic laugh. "Tragedy? You assume what happened to my face was a _tragedy_? What do you know of anything?"

That did it.

Her face now turned stone cold, she laid down her napkin and stood from the table. "It's apparent you don't wish to speak as a gentleman should. I won't sit here and be the target for your endless volley of sarcasm. Until you can speak kindly and with an open mind, I will choose not to speak at all. Good evening."

"Isabella."

And she left without another word.

"Isabella!" He stood from his chair so quickly it almost fell backwards, but it was too late, she was too far away to hear.

* * *

A/N: Oh boy, I know...Another block in the road. Have heart gals, things are coming together for them. Poor Erik...he just can't trust yet. But, he will. Thanks again to everyone who takes the time to review each and every chapter, I really appreciate it!


	19. Chapter 19 Silence Is Not Always Golden

Haven

Chapter Nineteen:

_The feel of cold grass on one cheek, the feel of searing heat, undeniable pain on the other. _

_Blurry eyes blink and try to focus. Lungs struggle for breath but are inhibited by remnants of choking, deadly black smoke._

_He could hear the commotion. Men hollering, barking order, women screaming, calling out their names. But he was alive, he had to tell them that, yet he could barely move, much less call out to them._

_Coughing violently, he slowly forces himself to his knees, still foggy as to how he reached that point so far behind the house. He carefully touches a finger to his cheek in an effort to sooth the heated agony. Nothing there, no skin, no flesh, just hard bone. Dear God, what had happened? His mind fights to recall. Oh no!_

_Sabine! Where was she?_

_His eyes frantically scan around the hillside for her and that's when he saw it._

_A blazing fire, raging angrily out of control, consuming the whole house like a destructive orange mass. His heart sunk in panic when it all came back to him, that instant of horrific recognition when the fog cleared and he finally remembered what had happened._

_And that Sabine was still inside._

Thomas almost dropped the cigar into his lap when he heard Erik's retelling of the events from the previous day, "She saw what?"

"She saw my face, my unmasked face." Erik answered from behind his desk at the office, his fingers twisting a fountain pen in circles, pensively. True to her word, Isabella didn't speak a word to Erik that morning at breakfast. Not that there was much to say. After tossing and turning all that night, Erik spoke a half way decent _good morning_ when she entered the dining room and a mediocre _good day_ when he left for London, but that was it. It was an awkward and miserable silence.

"Hell, _I_ have not even seen your unmasked face!" Thomas exclaimed.

That was true enough. It wasn't like he wouldn't have kept it from Thomas, it's just that the man, well, never seemed to be curious enough to ask. Neither had Elizabeth, for that matter. Perhaps it was exactly why he always felt so comfortable around them. His mask was never a real issue. He never felt as if they were put off by it at all.

Thomas shrugged, "And I assume this…unveiling…, it went poorly."

"That, it did. She was frightened, obviously repulsed by me."

Thomas winced, "I cannot believe that about her. What are you saying, that she stood there and screamed?"

Erik looked up at him, "She only screamed when I yelled at her."

"The way you yell, Erik, I've been of a mind to scream in terror." Thomas laughed deeply, half joking, yet half serious. The man's voice could be menacing at times, everyone knew that.

"Thomas." Erik sighed, not amused.

"Did she call you anything disparaging?"

"No."

"Did she shriek, recoil in horror?"

"Well, no. She just stood there staring at me, catatonic."

"That could be for any reason, not because she was _repulsed_ by you. That is an awful strong word, would you not agree?"

"What other word would you prefer, Thomas," In one swift, terribly brave move, Erik reached up and whipped the mask off of his face, "when faced with this?"

The gesture took Thomas so quickly by surprise, that in the shock, he began to choke on his cigar smoke. "Erik!"

"See?" he began to replace the mask but Thomas groaned at him to stop.

"Wait." The man's voice was gruff. "Let me catch my breath."

"By all means, take your time." Erik answered sarcastically.

Thomas composed himself, then stood up from his chair, inching closer to conduct a better examination of his friend's face. All the years he'd known Erik, he often wondered in secret what lied behind that opaque covering. Yet, for all his imaginings, he never fathomed such a malformation. He thought to himself that Elizabeth would certainly have reacted with such fright just as Isabella did. Who wouldn't? But she would never think him to be hideous and he was convinced that Isabella hadn't either.

"Are you quite done?" Erik asked, gripping hard to the mask, anxious, regretting his snap decision. The last thing he needed was for someone to walk in and see him in that state. It made him feel as if he was stripped naked, vulnerable.

"Yes, I'm done." Thomas replied, sinking slowly into his chair again.

Erik carefully replaced his mask, then said humorously, "You are sitting on your cigar."

"Bloody hell!" he leapt to his feet and grabbed the crushed cigar. "Cuban. What a waste." Then he sat it on Erik's desk and pulled out another one from his pocket. With shaky fingers, it took him more than a few seconds to light it.

"Told you. You are a grown man and my face caused you quite a distress. Imagine what Isabella did."

"I'm sure she was shocked, Erik," Thomas retorted quickly, "but I think if you had given her a chance, she would have calmed down."

"You have more faith in her than I do, I suppose."

Of course, it was probably a lot easier for Thomas to have faith in Isabella, he wasn't in love with her and feared getting hurt. He took a long drag of his cigar and let it seep out of his thin, mustached lips. "So I've never asked, but I assume this is the result of the fire."

Erik looked down, picking up the fountain pen for a second time, "Yes."

"There's a lot you have not told me about it, am I correct?"

A nod, a sigh, then quiet.

"Do you plan to tell Isabella?"

Calmly, Erik shrugged, "I do not know."

"Would you rather tell me first?" Thomas leaned forward, cautious not to overstep his bounds. Friendship or no, this wasn't something you just blurted out.

"No."

Thomas didn't push the issue. It was his own curiosity he wanted sated. He'd seen his face, now he found he needed to know it all. But, it could wait. He was confident that in time, Erik would come around and confide in him. He silently regretted that Elizabeth was visiting Tommy at school and wouldn't be home until later that day. If anyone could get Erik to open up, it was his wife. She just had a way with him.

"Well," he exhaled, finally calming down, "You might as well go home; you are doing no good here at the office in your state of mind. It's close to midday, take the opportunity to talk to her."

Again, Erik turned and looked up at Thomas.

"I know you mean well, my friend. And I do know, sensibly, I must end this animosity between us or it will drive us both mad. I honestly don't believe she will talk to me, but for the sake of both of us, I will try."

"Good." Thomas answered with a slight pang of relief. "But, before you go, there is something I think you should know. It was the original reason for my visit."

* * *

…_and yes, I know my fault in this, Mother, but I can't help but think that if Erik had just been willing to listen to reason, we would still be speaking. After all, I did try to apologize. _

_I also believe Jarrod knows more than he's saying. Both Lillian and Mary Ellen have asked me what's been going on, but I don't have the strength to speak it. I know they're in the dark, confused, I can see it. I'm simply not myself. All day today, I have been dreadful to everyone. I miss Elizabeth. She's due home this evening and only then will I be able to fill her in on the events of the past twenty-four hours. By now, I'm sure that most of the more influential families have learned that I've been teaching the staff children to read and write and because of what's happened with Erik, I can't even warn him of the possible backlash. Even if we were speaking, he's in London and it would take time to get word to him. I only fear he doesn't find out while there or I feel there would be much more than just foul words passing between us._

_This is the time that I wish you were here, to guide my decisions. But, I suppose for all that, it was my choice to return and I must take responsibility. However, I love him, Mother. I love him more than I had dared let myself believe or accept. Unfortunately, I have admitted this too late to myself, and to Erik. I pray with each passing moment that I don't lose him. Despite my resolve to remain silent in his presence, my heart is in pain. How much more should I allow myself or Erik to endure? Should I be the one to relent and speak first?_

_I must go now, I will write more when I can. Until then, take care._

_I love you,_

_Belle_

Isabella carefully folded and placed the letter inside the envelope and slid it into her pocket before leaving the bedroom. She made a mental note to give it to Dùghall as soon as he returned from London.

As she looked over the balcony to the foyer, she spotted Lillian polishing the wood banister and once again, she felt horrible. She'd been short tempered with everyone and they didn't deserve it. They only cared about her and wanted to know what had happened. It wasn't fair to them. Even on that first day she'd arrived there, she never felt as alone and isolated as she did at that very moment. And this time, it was by her doing.

And she was determined to fix it.

"Lillian?" she called down, careful to keep her tone calm.

The young maid flinched as her head flew up in her mistress' direction. "Mum?"

"I…" Isabella paused, not sure how to proceed.

"Is there anything I can get you, Mum? Some tea, perhaps?"

"You appear to be pretty busy, I don't need…"

"It is no trouble really! I am almost finished."

Perhaps that was it, the perfect way to ensure everything was good between them. "Okay, a cup of tea would be great…if you have one with me in the garden?"

"But, my duties, Mum…"

"Let them be. Take a break, okay?"

A long, bright smile rose from Lillian's lips and in an instant, everything began to brighten.

* * *

"I know you do not wish to speak of what is upsetting you," Lillian began as she sat down on the bench by the large statue fountain and handed Isabella her cup of tea, "but we are all concerned…"

"I know you had to have heard the commotion at breakfast yesterday and noticed our silence from then on." Isabella interrupted. She paused and took a sip of tea. Chamomile, just the perfect antidote to help her put things in perspective.

"I know you went up to speak to Lord Erik yesterday afternoon…" Lillian prompted her cautiously.

"Yes." She took another sip.

Lillian waited.

Isabella eyed her, then finally sat down her cup and asked, "What do you and the other staff know?"

"Nothing, Mum."

Her eyes narrowed and she scoffed, "Jarrod knows something."

"Yes, he does, but he will not tell us. Believe me, Mary Ellen has cornered him more than once and Teresa even threatened not to give him any food until he spoke, but he still refuses."

Isabella gave a half hearted laugh, letting it die quickly. Surprisingly, Jarrod was more loyal than she'd first given him credit for. Loyal to Erik, if not necessarily her.

"Lillian." she began again, figuring the best way to start was as blunt as possible, "When I went to see Erik yesterday, I opened the door to that strange room of his and…I saw his face. His face _without_ the mask."

"My God!" Lillian almost dropped the teacup in her hands.

"Yes, I know, I had a similar reaction." Isabella patted her hand.

"He must have been terribly angry, Mum!"

"Beyond anything I had ever seen."

"Did he harm you?" she asked quickly. "Did you suffer any punishment?"

"Oh, no. He never touched me." Isabella answered just as quickly. "He merely screamed at me to run to my room and lock my door. I can assure you, Lillian, I did just that. I hid there until you came to bring me to dinner…"

"Oh! That is why you…"

"Yes. I had to hide in the bathroom so you couldn't see that I'd been crying. I was so frightened and I didn't feel like telling anyone about it, not at that time."

"But you faced him in the dining room…"

"Believe me, I was unsure I could do it, but I decided it was the best idea to see him face to face and apologize for going in that room without permission. I wanted him to know that I wouldn't have ever done so if he'd been without his mask. That's such a private thing, Lillian. I know he felt betrayed and violated. I could see it on his face. It was as if in one moment, all the trust he had in me was stripped away. I wanted to rebuild it, but…."

"He did not want to." She was finally putting the pieces together.

"No, he didn't want to hear me out, he was just so cold and unfeeling. I even tried to explain about the earring, to tell him what Lady Wentworth and Lady Arrington had done and he didn't even believe me."

"He did not?"

"No. And it angered me, it really did. It was as if he was defending her. As if he couldn't believe for a moment that she would do anything like that. That's when I told him that if he couldn't be civil, I wouldn't speak to him at all and I left the dining room."

"It explains the silence at breakfast." Lillian leaned forward and carefully took the teacup out of Isabella's hands when she noticed she was gripping it too tight.

"It killed me to do that, but I couldn't take his callous words."

"I understand, I truly do, Mum. But I believe in Lord Erik too. I know he is upset, but he will not be able to keep this silence for long, I assure you."

"I don't know, I…"

"What did it look like?" Lillian abruptly blurted out.

"What?"

"His face."

Isabella's eyes turned sad and a lone tear fell on her cheek. "Bad. It's bad."

The young woman swallowed hard, "Tell me, please, Mum?"

Softly, Isabella leaned forward. She knew in her heart no one was there listening in, but she just couldn't speak of it openly.

"It appears he's been burned somehow. There was no flesh, Lillian, just a thin veil of skin that covered bone. I daresay, I could see the veins throbbing through it…"

Lillian let out a small, choking gasp.

"…and that skin was so red, red and scarred. The area around his eye and his forehead appeared to be unaffected, but everywhere the mask touched, it was deformed in some way. Oh, I know I shouldn't have stared as I did, but I'd never seen anything like that, not in my whole life! Yet, once the shock of it wore off…."

"Is that even possible?"

"Yes, it is, actually. As I lay on the bed in my room, I continued seeing his face, over and over in my mind. The Erik we all know…the one that wears the mask…he is so confident, self assured, almost arrogant. He could cause a room of fifty people to come to a complete halt by just his presence. But the Erik I saw in that room, he'd deteriorated into a frightened shell of a man, angry, hating the world, hating me for seeing him that way. You could hear it in the music he played after I'd left the room. But, when the mask was returned to his face, it was an instant transformation. Yes, as I said, it's bad, but it's part of who Erik is. He was no more hideous or grotesque than when I first laid eyes on him. And given time, I think it would be that way for anyone who looked upon him in that way. Yet, he won't give anyone the chance."

"Except Jarrod, maybe?"

"I believe there is something there, Lillian. Jarrod has to have seen his face. And I know Jarrod spotted me leave the room and go down the staircase. His loyalty is unquestioned. Do you know how long he's worked for Erik, exactly?"

Lillian scratched her chin in thought, "Well, I know he has been with Lord Erik before Mary Ellen ever came, and she has been working here the longest."

"I think I may have to speak to Jarrod myself, see what he knows for sure…"

"Isabella."

Both women turned at the sound of Erik's voice. It was deep and firm. Isabella instantly blushed, wondering just how long he'd been standing there listening and what he'd heard. Forgetting that she wasn't supposed to be speaking to him, she opened her mouth to utter an apology, but…

"We need to talk. Now."

She nodded, her body unable to move, "Okay."

"Library. Five minutes."

Then, he was gone.

"How he can come and go so quickly." Isabella whispered, her body still paralyzed from his sudden entrance. All traces of the unmasked face was gone, all that remained was how utterly beautiful he was despite his curt, insistent words.

"Do you think he heard people talking about the teaching?" Lillian asked her.

"I can imagine so."

"Do you think he is angry, Mum?"

"I can imagine so."

She rose from her seat on the bench and Lillian took her arm, "Do be careful, Mum."

Isabella nodded down at her; grateful for her concern. Finally gathering her courage, she turned and slowly walked into the house, toward the library where she knew Erik awaited her.

* * *

Erik paced around the library, impatiently waiting for Isabella. He'd stood at the entrance to the garden just long enough to hear her tell Lillian that she wanted to speak to Jarrod and he'd panicked. Jarrod, so far, had not said a word, but he'd told the man never to deny Isabella anything and he knew, given that circumstance, Jarrod would tell her the truth.

And he'd already decided that was his job.

He'd promised Thomas he would finally tell Isabella the truth. That was before he was informed that Lord Helsey had told several fellow bank investors that the wife of Lord Haven had defamed herself, stooped so low as to mingle with the house and field staff. That she'd taken to something so scandalous as to teach them to read. How in the world did that insolent man find out something like that? If he'd been in the man's presence, he was sure he'd have wrapped his hands around his scrawny neck.

Lord Helsey. The name had come up before, at dinner the previous day. Isabella mentioned his name, mingled in with Rebecca's. She'd told him Rebecca had lost one of those earrings during a visit the man's home. It was beginning to make sense. Although he wasn't sure how she knew, Rebecca must have told Lord Helsey about the teaching. He cursed her, then himself for not believing his wife when she'd tried to tell her the truth. But he'd just been too angry to listen to reason. Now…

The door creaked open and his head snapped around to see Isabella walk inside, apprehensively.

"I knocked, but you didn't answer." Her voice was soft and timid. Erik could tell instantly she was uncomfortable, nervous in his presence. Damn it to hell, he chastised himself. It was the one thing he dreaded would happen, that she'd come to fear him.

"I apologize, I was…distracted momentarily. Please, come inside and shut the door."

She obeyed, but lingered at the shut door too long. Was she going to stay by the door the whole time? No, that, he couldn't have. He walked to her and took her arm, carefully and began to walk her toward the chaise. "Would you like a drink?"

Isabella looked up at Erik's face and saw his eyes had softened significantly since she saw him in the garden. His touch was light and unthreatening. She could feel herself relax and she shook her head, her voice stronger and answered, "No, thank you. I had tea earlier in the garden."

He chose not to take a drink himself. No, his mind needed to be clear. No interruptions, he'd already ordered Jarrod to stand guard by the door this time. No one was getting in that library unless the house was being attacked by a fire eating dragon. And even then, it would have to be a damn big one.

He gestured for her to sit down and when she did, he sat on the coffee table across from her. Not the most gallant gesture, but at this point, etiquette no longer mattered. He needed to see her head on.

Isabella stared into the man's eyes deeper than she ever had before, trying desperately to read them. It was obvious she wasn't in any immediate danger.

"Thank you for agreeing to come in here." He started off, trying to keep his voice an even tone.

"You were somewhat insistent." She answered him.

"I suppose I was. Again, I apologize. I only wished for you to understand how important it was that I speak to you. I heard you mention you wished to speak with Jarrod. I do not want you to do that."

"Why not?"

"Because, I feel there are many things which I, not Jarrod, need to explain to you. I also need to apologize for the way I spoke to you at dinner last night."

"You had every right to be angry after what I'd done." Now that she felt how much he wanted to make amends, it no longer seemed necessary.

"Yes, but you had apologized and I accepted, it should have ended there."

"We both said some terrible things, Erik. And I pried into your personal life more than I should have, I just wanted to know what had happened with….you know." She gave just a slight gesture toward his mask, not sure how he would take it.

He paused, then gave a gentle smile, "Yes, I know you did. But I was not ready to answer them. I just wanted to shut myself off from you, I felt the trust had been broken."

Isabella looked down, but Erik quickly took her chin and lifted her face up once more, "But I do not feel that way now."

"No?"

"Through some new information, I found that you…"

"You found out that people know I'm teaching the staff." Isabella interrupted, not really meaning to. She was listening all Erik was saying, but she had to know immediately. She'd rehearsed an explanation in her head all day for just the occasion.

"Well yes, but what I meant to say was that I found you were indeed telling the truth about what you knew of the earring."

Oh, that.

"Wait. You now believe me? What information? From whom?"

"Lord Helsey. It seems you were right about their association. He was telling everyone he could find about you teaching the staff to read. He used phrases that I shall not repeat and can assure you, he will smart for at a later date, but I'm convinced that he found out from Rebecca."

"Are you so sure Rebecca was the one who told him?"

"Who else would be so angry with me but her? Although, how she knew about it, I still do not know."

Isabella smirked, "I know."

Erik's eyebrows rose slowly, "You do? How?"

"I set a little trap for Lady Wentworth." Isabella told him proudly, "I found out that she had sent one of her maids to spy on us, to gather dirt, so I let dirt be spread. I was sure that once this got to her, she would tell everyone she knew, including Lady Arrington."

"You purposely let yourself become the subject of malicious gossip? For what purpose?"

"I knew eventually it would come out, Erik, so this way, I controlled how and when it would be discovered."

"And when had you intended on telling me this?" Erik's voice rose slightly and suddenly Isabella regretted her boasting. Perhaps Erik wouldn't find this amusing after all.

"That was what I had gone up to the room to tell you, actually. But, circumstances prevented it. At that time, Lillian hadn't let anything slip."

"I see."

"If this has upset you, I don't know how to make amends. I only felt that if she found out, she'd spread it and eventually, it would burn out. I mean, would anyone really care about this a month from now?"

"Apparently, you still do not understand much of English society, my dear." Erik said amusingly, "It would not surprise me if they were speaking of this well into the New Year."

She gasped, then winced, realizing just how much she'd messed up. If only Elizabeth had been there, she would've warned her, told her it would create more of a scandal than she could handle. She would've stopped then, she was sure of it.

"Oh God, Erik…I had no idea…"

Erik leaned forward and took her hands in his and spoke kindly, "It has happened, but the less we pay mind to it, the better. I will not answer anyone's inquiry and we will go on as if nothing has been said. The more we present ourselves as a unified couple, a couple…in love…" he almost couldn't get it out, "…the better we will come out of this and the sooner it will go away."

The feel of his hands in hers was overwhelmingly comfortable and calming. "But what about Lady Wentworth and Lady Arrington?"

"Let us worry about them later. Right now, we have other pressing matters." He inched forward on the table. "Jarrod has been instructed not to let anyone in, so we will remain private. You can ask me whatever you wish about my past and I'll answer it."

"Anything?" her eyes glowed with hopefulness.

"Yes, Isabella, anything."

"I'd like that, Erik, I'd like that very much. But, before we go any further, I'd like you to do something else for me."

"Whatever you wish?"

"Remove your mask."

Erik froze at her request, yet he wasn't surprised to hear it. He'd opened himself up by offering to tell her about his past, why shouldn't she wish for a second chance to see his face. Yet, he still wasn't sure if he should do it.

That is, until Isabella moved closer to sit just on the very edge of the chaise.

She reached up and placed her hand on his mask. She didn't make a move to remove it, no, that would have been too much for him. Her voice was soft and calming, "I won't if you don't want me to, but contrary to what you might have thought about me, I don't find it appalling."

"Yes, I do believe that you don't find me appalling, Isabella." Erik gently countered. "I spoke with Thomas for a long time this morning and he helped me to see that your expression yesterday was not one of repulsion, but of surprise and that had I given you time, you would have not been so frightened."

She gasped. "He's right! I was frightened, but not by your face. It was your anger that scared me. For the love of God, why would I ever think of you as repulsive?" she silently told herself to be sure and thank Thomas for the vote of confidence, God knows what he might have thought of her otherwise.

Erik could only shrug. In all the years he's worn the mask, only five people ever saw him without it. Jarrod was still with him and was the only one who saw it on a regular basis. The doctor who helped him with the initial injury, Doctor Patrick Lefrançois, who was surely deceased by now. Then there was Amelia, his mother's original house maid, who came with him and Jarrod to England, but left two years later to return and live out her days in Rouen. And finally today, Thomas.

And of course, Isabella.

None of them ever showed any signs that they were disgusted by him. They all were aware the circumstances surrounding the injury. He knew that it all had to be in his own mind. Logically. But his heart never could be convinced.

But that was before Isabella came into his life.

"Remove it." He softly beckoned her.

It wasn't that easy. The mask was sealed tight to his skin, so she allowed her fingers to gingerly glide around the edges of it, searching for any opening she could use for leverage. One might find it amusing, the way she fumbled, that is, if the situation wasn't so serious.

Although he loved how her fingers felt along the outer rim of his mask, he saw her growing distress and pressed his hand to hers to stop. He took her fingers and placed it on the top of the mask in an area around his brow and wordlessly coaxed her to start there.

"Oh." Her soft voice uttered when she felt a slight opening. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." He answered her, the word dying in the air as he anticipated how his world would soon be stripped bare. He tried in vain to prepare for it.

Very slowly, she began to remove the mask and she marveled at how much more pliable the mask really was. It peeled away from the bad part of his face, starting at the top and working its way down like the unveiling of a curtain. Each passing inch, more skin revealed, more red, scarred skin and Isabella could see Erik's anxiety growing with it.

"I'm almost done." She whispered comfortingly, her other hand taking his and stroking the palm.

"Do not cry Isabella, promise me. Just look away if it becomes too much. I do not think I could bear to see your tears." He pleaded, his voice turning into that of a small child for just a moment; it made Isabella pause and look into his eyes. Her heart broke for him and in that moment, she did almost shed tears for him, but not because of his face, but because of his heart, his courage and strength. She was once again in total awe.

"I won't cry, Erik, I promise."

He opened his mouth to speak again, but stopped abruptly as he saw his mask fall from her delicate hands into his lap. Apparently the words didn't matter anymore.

Isabella resisted the urge to gasp, but instead, chose to examine his face in an almost detached, clinical manner. Her fingers very carefully traced a scar that ran from mid cheek to jawline and when Erik inhaled sharply, she wasn't sure if she'd hurt him or not.

"Perhaps I shouldn't touch it, I can imagine it's very sensitive." She told him, but he just shook his head at her.

"No, your touch is cool and feels soothing to my skin. But, if you wish to stop, I understand."

Her answer was to place her whole palm on the side of his face.

His reaction was to grip her wrist, the breath catching in his throat.

"Oh…" she breathed out, feeling the hard bone and lack of flesh underneath it. It didn't feel as ghastly as she first expected, just different. His skin was as smooth as rose petals, delicate and very warm.

"Isabella." His hand caressed her arm, while his other hand brought her fingers to his lips. "You have no idea just how amazing your touch is…"

When his lips touched her fingers, she certainly shared the assessment.

"Tell me what happened, Erik, were you burned?"

"Yes. Burned." He uttered helplessly, lost in her touch, "A terrible fire." His eyes closed and he concentrated on feeling her hand on his face while he fought the memory, to prevent it from shutting down his heart.

"A fire?" she knew it.

"Yes. It destroyed my home."

"Was it here in England?"

"No, in Rouen."

"Umm…" Isabella finally paused and removed her hand from his face. She took the mask and placed it into his hands, gently closing his fingers around it. "Perhaps I should just hear the story from the beginning."

"Yes, I should tell you about Sabine."

Isabella's eyes widened. "Sabine? Who is she?" she'd hoped it was a family member, but the way Erik looked, she was sure she meant much more."

"No," Erik replied sadly, "She was my wife."

* * *

A/N: Whew. I'm so sorry this took as long as it did to post. I've had a ton going on and just couldn't sit down to do a lot of writing. Then when I finally did, I ended up with a serious writing block. Thanks for all the reviews and for everyone's patience. I'll try and not make it long between posts. The storyline for this is much longer than my time will allow, so most likely, I'll end the story in a couple of chapter, then do a sequel, since I have enough material. Again, reviews and encouragement is always appreciated!


	20. Chapter 20 The Marquis' Mistress

Haven

Chapter Twenty:

Memoirs:

_The Empty Room_

_Erik took me to the Empty Room, as I came to silently refer to it, and there, I sat on a quilt on the hardwood floor, watching as he walked…no, paced, around the room telling me his story. It took hours to go into every detail, but as age has weakened my power of recollection, I only remember the more important details._

_Erik was born Charles Frederick Renault, the 4__th__ Marquis de Rochfort. The family estate was located in Rouen, France, where he lived as an only child with his father, Armand, the 3__rd__ Marquis de Rochfort and his mother, Caroline, the Marquise de Rochfort as well as the Marchioness of Longhaven, which of course later became Haven. By his own account, he was spoiled and wanted for nothing. He had servants and attendants, attended the finest boarding schools where he excelled in mathematics and business studies. Because of that, his father wished him to become an accountant, but he had another idea in mind._

_Music._

_He excelled at the piano, it became a fixation during his years in school, yet he all but kept it from his father. His mother, however, was very supportive of his musical endeavors. In fact, it was her who purchased for him his first piano, a black lacquered beauty that sat in the family's music room up until her death. Once Erik moved into his own home, he took it with him and set it up in his parlor as a tribute, almost a shrine, if you will, to his mother and her devotion to his dream. _

_My, how he loved her. It was not hard to see how his eyes lit up when he spoke of her beauty, grace and kind nature. His father, however, was a firm but fair man, Erik told me, and they didn't exactly see eye to eye on many occasions. The Marquis had mapped out his son's life and when Erik didn't wish to follow it, there was tension and resentment, on both ends._

_But nothing was more of a source of that tension than the woman who would ultimately drive the two of them apart. _

_Her name was Sabine de L'Ardene. Erik was nearly twenty-seven at the time, just three years after his mother's death, which, from what he told me, sent him into a long depression. It was during that time that he found himself floundering around Montmartre. That's where he met her. I could tell by the way he described Sabine that he fell in love very quickly, despite the fact that she was a good ten years his senior. He said her dirt stained clothes and unkempt manner didn't hide the fact that she just didn't seem to belong there, that she had a quality about her that drew men like a moth to a flame. Almost instantly, she seemed to heal Erik's heart and transform him back to the man he used to be before his mother's death. Their courtship spanned two years and was quite a whirlwind. Erik, then a young musician, struggling to have his operas discovered, was living off his parents' money in a large home on his family estate in Rouen. Sabine, despite the strong objections from his father, moved into the home well before they were ever married. She had a suite all her own, a driver to take her anywhere she wished and her own personal maid. For a time, everything seemed perfect, but deep down, Sabine had a secret identity, a double life that she kept hidden. Yet, as with all dark secrets, it finally came to light and when it did, it caused an almost unspeakable tragedy. Although he had, in time, forgiven himself, I know it haunted my darling Erik for the rest of his life._

"So," Isabella began, trying to continue putting the pieces of the puzzle together, "after two years of living with you, she finally agreed to marriage."

Both Erik and Isabella were sitting in the piano room, on the floor, their dinner laid out in an elaborate spread between them like a formal, indoor picnic. Although they had not kept up with the time, they had both watched the beautiful purple sunset from the large window, while Erik told her the story of how he met and fell in love with Sabine de L'Ardene.

"Yes, I believe that I insisted enough by that time and she finally gave in." Erik nodded as he sipped his wine, letting the fine vintage slide leisurely down his throat before answering further, "We had a very small ceremony, just a priest and the staff as witnesses. My father did not attend. I was, of course, upset by this, but she was not and at the time, I did not know why."

"But you found out later."

"Unfortunately, yes."

Isabella nodded, then took another bite of her food, letting both of them rest a moment before continuing. "After the wedding is when everything began to change?"

"Seemingly within the next couple of weeks, her whole demeanor began to deteriorate before my eyes. She was impatient, moody, prone to fits of anger and tantrums. She would disappear for hours at a time. I would have the staff search for her all over the estate only to have her show up in time for dinner, looking as if she'd never left. If I asked where she had been, she would either scream at me that it was none of my business, or she would simply pretend she had no clue what I was saying and tell me I was imagining things."

"That seems to be a very quick transformation, do you think she was becoming ill? You know, mentally?"

"The thought had occurred to me, but the onset of it was what was so confusing, the change coming so quickly. She was reluctant to marry me in the first place, so when she finally did, I believe she grew to resent me for it. Of course, at the time, I was so in love with her that I was blind, I had no idea what kind of person she really was. But, my father knew. He tried to tell me in a million different ways, tried to stop me, but I did not listen. I thought he was a controlling tyrant and in the end, I chose Sabine over him."

"What did your father know?" she leaned forward, her arms resting on her crossed legs.

"That she never loved me at all." He replied with a blank stare. "That she was just using me…taking from me…had another..."

Isabella waited for words that never came. Erik's eyes had glazed over, gone distant and empty.

"Erik…" she touched his arm. "You can tell me."

But instead, Erik rose slowly and walked over to the back wall of the room. Just on the left of the large window, he lifted one of the three paintings that hung on the wall and sat it on the floor. There, Isabella could see a hole in the wall behind where the painting had been and observed closely as Erik removed something from inside it. He held it carefully, as if it could somehow break apart by his touch, then returned to sit down in front of Isabella. Moving the dinner plates out of the way, he laid it on the floor in front of her, but kept his hand over it.

Isabella looked down at the strange, cloth colored object, then back up at Erik.

"What is this?"

He solemnly unfolded the cloth and gestured for Isabella to look at it again. It was a book, at least by her estimation, it was difficult to tell as it was so charred that it was almost black.

"My father found this and gave it to me…" Erik began, his fingers tapping on it. "…when I found out what she'd done and, more importantly, how she betrayed me, it destroyed me and I flew into a rage."

"What did she do to you?"

"She had been having an affair with my stable hand."

Isabella's eyes widened, "Oh my…"

"Yes, his name was Philippe. A dark haired, strong young Spaniard. He was very popular with the female staff, handsome, charming, friendly."

She tried to listen as he went into great detail about Philippe, but her mind wandered away momentarily. Everything he said, everything he felt, she knew in essence, he'd just described Dùghall. It all began to make sense. Was this the reason he didn't want for Isabella to associate with him? It was all out of fear, fear she would have an affair with him?

"…little did I know that he had his eyes set on my wife."

"When did this affair begin?" she asked him, picking up the book in her hands. It was heavy and the edges appeared to be distorted and swollen, as if they'd met with water at one time.

"Apparently, about a year before we were ever married."

"Which explains her reluctance to marry you and why she'd changed afterwards."

"Yes, I am sure, but there was more to it, Isabella." He pointed back to the book, "Read."

"No, this is private, perhaps I shouldn't…"

"Please, read…"

Sensing his urgency, she struggled to read the worn words on the thick canvas cover.

_Journal __intime de la Maîtresse d'un Marquis_

"What?" Isabella read it two more times, both out loud. "This is in French, what does it mean?"

"It means, _Diary of a Marquis' Mistress_." He replied. "Here, there is more." Gently, Erik opened the front cover and pointed to the first page. Again, Isabella had to squint to read the French scribe, which appeared to be nothing but smeared splotches of ink, but one portion was crystal clear.

_Sabine de L'Ardene._

"Dear God." She gasped softly. The woman had written down her affair with Erik in a diary? His father had given it to him. How did he find it? "This is Sabine's personal diary. What does this other part say here?" she pointed to the words just above below her name.

"How I lived my life with lies." He replied to her, his face stone cold.

"Are you trying to tell me that Sabine kept a journal of your romance?"

"Romance?" He quickly scoffed, then corrected her. "One could barely call it a romance. But no, dear lady, I was not the Marquis she was referring to."

Isabella held her breath and waited. When he finally said it, it was if the clouds lifted and a weight fell from his burdened shoulders.

"It was my father."

"Sabine was your father's mistress?" Isabella nearly leapt off the floor.

"Yes, she was. At the time she was with my father, she was going by her real name, Anastasie Montique. She was a courtier that had been introduced to my father by hers. In those days, men often had their daughters become mistresses to men of influence, thus securing guaranteed wealth for the family. She was very young and amazingly beautiful so, naturally, my father took an instant liking to her. Everything went well between them for five years, until some of my mother's jewelry began disappearing. Nothing of value at first, a bracelet here, a brooch there, all seemingly explained away as being misplaced, but when my mother's beloved silver locket disappeared, they both knew that was not simply a case of neglectfulness. Her heart was broken and it became too much for my father to handle. The thefts were finally investigated and although he had no real proof she did it, Anastasie was always there on the days were something went missing. Given that evidence, she was dismissed. She returned to her home, the jewelry was never found and my father never saw her again, until the day I brought her home."

"And you never suspected she had once been with your father?"

"Never. Their association ended nearly twelve years before I met her. At the time she was with him, I was a young boy off at school, so our paths never crossed. My father always made sure of that. I never knew she existed until we met in Paris."

She shook her head in disbelief, "So meeting her was a coincidence. You were simply just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"It would appear so. From all outward appearances, she had led everyone to believe was just a poor woman from a poor family, struggling to find her place in the world and dreaming of finding her one true love and living happily ever after. But the real woman was a schemer, a money hungry tramp who used and abused her way through life. She'd been disowned by her family after my father accused her of theft, and she left in shame, escaped to Paris where she took up with other destitutes. At first, she did not have much to do with me, but once I confessed my true parentage, she set her sights on seducing me. I could not see what she was doing. I believe at one time, she might have even convinced herself that she felt something for me, but in the end, her true love was Philippe, I know that now. She had fallen in love with him, but her love of money is what kept her connected to me after father and I were no longer speaking."

"Your father knew and he never tried to tell you the absolute truth?"

"As I said, he tried to tell me indirectly, but I believe he was too ashamed for me to know that he had been with women other than my mother. He knew how much I was devoted to her and I think he feared I would hate him for it."

"Did you?"

"No, despite our differences, I never could hate him. For a long time, I resented his silence, but I realize now just how much courage it took for him to admit his mistakes. After finding the journal, he knew he had to tell me everything."

"How did he find it?"

"He'd overheard Sabine and Philippe talking out at the stables one evening. They were plotting on stealing everything of value in my home to sell, then take the money, leave France for good and settle in Spain. He told me he went through her belongings, trying to find what items she had already stolen, thinking…hoping, although futilely, that Mother's locket might still be among the items. Instead, he found the journal at the bottom of her wardrobe. He took it and read it beginning to end. I believe that is what prompted him to finally come to me. You see, he discovered not only had she chronicled their affair, but mine as well."

Isabella's mouth hung open momentarily, "So, she didn't end the journal with your father."

"No. She goes into great detail about our relationship. The good and the bad." He gently removed it from Isabella's hands and held it tight against his chest. It was apparent he was not ready for her to read any of it just yet. "It is very explicit, nothing for a lady like yourself to be viewing."

She nodded understandingly, "Erik…I have no idea what to say. I'm glad your father finally told you the truth. Now, knowing what you have gone through, I can see why you would lose faith in women and in love in general."

"And why I wished to remain alone the rest of my life." He stood to his feet, walked to the wall and replaced the book inside its hiding place before re-hanging the picture over it. When it was back where it belonged, she was amazed, but not shocked she'd never seen it before. It was the perfect hiding place, no one would ever suspect anything was hidden inside the wall.

She took a moment to memorize its location, however, making a mental note in case she ever chose to return and find the book, then looked over at the piano that sat by the window, "So, this is the piano your mother gave you."

"No, it is merely a replica." He began with a sigh, walking over to it and sitting on the stool. He lifted the cover and began to tinker with the ivory keys, playing a simple tune. "I had it reproduced from memory, every inch of it. The night that caused me to leave France for good, I found the book, but I had only been able to read through the first few pages when she found me. I confronted her, accused her and she did not even try to hide it. She told me everything, especially her affair with Philippe. We argued and…"

"…_you were too stupid to realize what my purpose was, who I really loved. You, talking of sunsets and sonnets, love, happiness, children," Sabine spat at him, "it blinded you to the truth. We are from two different worlds, Erik. I am not part of your stuffy, overbearing aristocratic society. I loathe it, I loathe your Father, your family, I loathe you!"_

_Erik screamed, running at her, his hand raised, prepared to strike her down for insulting his family._

_But instead, he was stopped by a strong young man who came seemingly out of nowhere. He held a sword out in front of him, the young woman behind him and growled at his former Master._

"_Touch her and die!"_

_Erik's eyes narrowed at the young man's impetuousness. "I dare you to try, Philippe. Sabine is my wife and she will be punished for what she did to me and my family. If you stand in the way, I will punish you as well."_

"_Not if I spill your blood first…" the sword touched Erik's throat, threatening with one extra inch, to slash the skin, but…_

"_Stop, Philippe."_

_Sabine's voice was shaky, but very adamant._

"_Do you not understand? He must die or he will kill us both." Philippe told her, his eyes never leaving Erik's._

"_No, I have a better idea. Something that will destroy his heart much more than the point of a sword." Her voice turned even more hateful and she smirked at Erik, then looked over at what had been a source of her animosity for a long time._

_The piano._

_How she hated his music, hated his devotion to it. No matter how much she feigned her admiration of his musical talent, deep down she couldn't stand any of it. She remembered the horrid black instrument standing in the parlor of Armand's home for years, a symbol of a mother's love to her son, the son she'd never seen, not until many years later. It reminded her that she would never have Armand's children, never have his true love and devotion. Even after all that time, she was still jealous of that love. The love she gave Erik, the love she'd tried to give Armand… _

"_What are you going to do?" Philippe asked her._

_Sabine grabbed one of the larger oil lamps from the side table and began emptying them out all over the curtains, furniture and floor of the parlor where they all stood. Then she took a second one in her hand, lit the wick and walked over to the piano._

"_Please, do not do this, Sabine! You know that it means to me, my mother…" he begged, but he knew it was futile. He saw it on her face, she was not going to stop. Everything about her, everything she had poured out in the journal, became frightingly clear._

_Sabine just stood and laughed at him. It was an insane sound that made Erik's skin crawl. He could feel his world beginning to fall apart right before his eyes. _

"_Yes, I know what it means to you, Erik. I hate it and I hate you. I hope you die with your precious, useless pieces of music."_

"_No!" Erik screamed at her. The words cut through him like a knife and it gave him the strength and courage to fight against Philippe's grasp. But it was too late, by the time he'd knocked the sword from the young man's grasp, Sabine had thrown the lamp. It crashed into the piano, instantly setting it ablaze._

"_Damn you, Sabine!" Erik cried in futility as he knew he would never be able to get enough water from the well to put it out in time. He lunged at her instead, grabbing her by the neck and throwing her into the wall. "Damn you to hell!"_

_But before he could satisfy his rage, the insane instinct to take her life, Philippe grabbed him in a chokehold and Sabine cried out, "Kill him so we can get out of here!"_

_The two men fought around the room, trading punches and kicks as all around them, the room burned furiously, fueled on by the oil that had already been spread._

_The choking black smoke became thick and heavy, very little air left for any of them to breathe. Rolling around on the floor, blood pouring from both men, they fought their way to the sword that lay unused nearby, both knowing whoever made it to the weapon would in the end be the true victor._

"_The sword!" Philippe cried at Sabine, crawling towards it, with Erik pulling him back, his hands around the young man's throat. "Get…the…sword…Sabine!"_

_But Sabine heard none of it, she had frozen in panic, catatonic as fire filled the room, trapping them inside. All his pleading words never reached her ears._

_By the time her lover died at her feet at Erik's hands, she was powerless to save him._

"_Philippe!" she finally cried when she regained her senses and heard him take his final, gasping breath._

_Erik leapt to his feet and lifted Sabine up in his arms, now desperate for both of them to escape the suffocating smoke and fire that was licking the walls. "Come!"_

"_No! You murderous bastard!"_

"_You are coming with me!" He began dragging her toward the door, the heat from the fire almost too much to bear. Coughing, he lost his grip on her momentarily and she broke free. "Sabine!"_

_But she ran to Philippe's lifeless body, falling to the floor, crying. "My love, my love!"_

"_We must go now, Sabine!" Erik struggled to say as he half walked, half crawled over to her. He took her by the arm, but once again, she broke free._

"_Leave me alone!"_

_Then, a sound of crackling, burning wood overhead._

_A crash as Erik scrambled to get out of the way, landing on the floor next to his beloved piano, now nothing but a pile of charred wood._

"_Sabine…" he panted as he saw her crushed under the impact of the fire weakened ceiling rafters. He reached for her, but it was useless._

_Her screams of panic and pain filled the room and the last thing Erik saw before everything went black was flames engulfing her._

Isabella wiped the tears from her eyes with a handkerchief from Erik's pocket. After all she'd done to him he still wanted to save her. He was more remarkable than she'd first thought, if that was possible.

"The next thing I knew, I'd awakened on the hillside behind my home. My face was on fire, my clothes were singed, but there was no sign of Sabine. It took me several anxious moments to remember what happened and realize that she had died in the fire. There was no possible way she could have survived being buried in the rubble like that." He took a pause as his fingers continued to play almost wistfully, leaving Isabella in complete shock.

"You committed murder, Erik." Isabella breathed out, her heart broken. "But you did it to defend yourself, if not, he would have killed you."

Finally, his fingers ceased on the keys, he replaced the cover and returned to sit next to Isabella on the floor. He took her hand, stroking the palm, "Yes, but no matter, I still took a human life. It is something I have had to live with for the past ten years. I regret it, Isabella. Yes, I was spoiled, indulged as a child. For years after Sabine, I had many women, mistresses, I spent money on them, spent money on myself, and yes, I had a temper, but in my heart, I was a musician. I had never harmed anyone before or since. Betrayed or not, they should not have died."

"You cannot blame yourself for Sabine's death. She chose to stay."

"Yes, I know. It was then that I realized how much she loved him. That she would rather stay there and die with his body, than to live without him in the world with me. Despite all that had happened, I feel envious of the love they must have shared. An intense love she never did feel for me."

"You will never believe anyone can love you like that, can you?"

His own eyes now filled with tears and he looked at Isabella, lost, so lost and helpless. "No. Not with this." He gestured to the mask. "But she is my past. When I met you, I tried to shut you out. I did not want to hope, to allow myself to believe that I could have that kind of love and…"

"…and now?" The breath left her body with a rush of pure, raw emotion. Carefully, she moved closer to him, studying his eyes for the first time since hearing of his horrible past, his secret. It didn't matter, none of it changed who he was to her, a man who moved her beyond anything she had felt in years. Carefully, she ran her finger along his jaw and their raspy breaths suddenly seemed to become one, long, lingering inhale.

"Would you believe me if I told you that I had fallen in love with you, Erik?" she asked, her voice so soft, Erik wasn't even sure he heard her correctly.

"Would I dare to dream such a thing was possible? That I was worthy of your love, Isabella?"

"Belle." She whispered, her lips coming closer to his. "I want you to call me Belle."

"Belle." Erik slid his hand up her arm, to her neck, gently cradling it. His thumb stroked the skin just under her ear as he boldly pulled her to his lips, enclosing them, daring to steal the very air that they were sharing. She moaned softly against those strong lips as she leaned forward to take everything from his kiss that he was giving and more, if that were possible. Time seemed to stand still as their lips pressed hard, then would pull away to taste each other, to whisper words neither could understand, before resuming yet another, even deeper, passionate embrace.

"I am obsessed with you, Belle." Was the first set of words she finally understood. The fog of passion lifted and she held his gaze, unable to respond.

"You have filled my world with light, life…things I was sure I could never have again. I was miserable when you were in Delaware, prayed everyday you would return, but knew I had no right to keep you."

"I was confused about my feelings for so long, I would look for a sign, a sign that would guide me. And it finally happened…I dreamed you came for me, Erik."

His lips brushed against her cheek, moving across to whisper in her ear, "You did?"

She nodded, leaning against his exploring mouth, "Yes. One night at my mother's home. I dreamed you came to the house and Jackson wouldn't let you inside, so you broke down the door. You called to me…" a moan came next as his lips began to trail down the side of her neck and his hand came to rest on her thigh, "…I ran into your arms and you took me away, brought me back here to Haven."

"And you believe this dream was telling you something?" His lips rested in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent and leaving behind warm breath that made her skin go gooseflesh.

"Yes, and it prompted the letter that I wrote to you."

"Did this dream end with me making love to you?"

Isabella inhaled sharply through clinched teeth. What a bold statement and an equally lovely thought. "No," she replied, then smirked, "but I'm not responsible for what my mind does while asleep…"

Keeping his lips against her throat, Erik pressed his hand against the small of her back, rose to his knees and carefully lowered his wife to the floor, allowing his body to press against hers. Isabella gripped his shoulders, stunned at the sudden gesture, but she wouldn't even consider pushing him away.

"You are not asleep now, Belle." His eyes focused on hers while his hand caressed her cheek.

"Indeed. And I'm glad."

"I would ask you to share my bed, but to be honest, I do not feel I could be patient enough to carry you to my suite."

"I like it here, Erik." Her voice almost squeaked, overwhelmed. It was happening, finally. She was going to consummate her marriage and it would be by her own choice, something she feared wouldn't be so when she first arrived at Haven. Now, she was ready to become his wife in the truest sense of the word.

Once again, their lips met and both of them let out a cry at the impact of it. Their embrace had, in the course of a half second, gone from careful exploration to absolute conquest. The impact took them to the point of insanity. Their arms encircled one another, holding as tight as they could as each tongue danced against the other, feeling certain that if they didn't merge their bodies as one, they would simply explode.

Erik's hand fought past the layers of Isabella's gown, fighting furiously to find flesh, any flesh that lied underneath. When contact was made, feeling for the first time her soft skin, he was sure that he'd come undone in the process. Isabella almost wept at the touch of Erik's large, warm hands on her thigh. For so long, she was unsure if she would ever feel that kind of intimate touch from a man again. She missed it to the point of desperation sometimes, but even those times didn't compare to what she was experiencing as Erik was caressing her.

"Erik…it's been so long…I…" she muttered against his lips in between breathless kisses.

"I know, my beautiful Belle." He sighed, stroking the bulging bosom that was rising up from her tight bodice as it rose and fell with her gasps. She was intoxicating, so much so, he could barely fathom that he might actually be so close to making love to her. But there she was, lying under him, her cheeks flushed rosey, her lips swollen from his kisses. And her eyes…her eyes were glossy and soft, inviting him in, daring him to lose himself within her mind and heart.

"We will take our time, I promise you, we have all night…"

The knock to the piano room door changed that instantly.

Both of them froze in shock and fear of being discovered in such a state.

"No…no, make them go away." Isabella pleaded, but Erik had no intention of doing otherwise.

"This better be the fire breathing dragon!" he growled at the door.

"What?" Isabella's eyes widened slightly, then she giggled.

He shrugged at her, "I will explain later."

"Close, my Lord." Jarrod spoke from behind the locked door.

Erik cursed under his breath.

"Her Grace is here and I daresay, she is very upset about something, my Lord. She insists on seeing both you and Lady Isabella in the parlor immediately."

"What time is it?" Isabella whispered.

Erik fumbled for his watch, "Nearly eight forty-five."

"This is unusual, Elizabeth is never this insistent." Isabella noted and Erik agreed. Something must be terribly wrong.

"I would say that she could wait, but perhaps she would not." Erik smirked as he slowly, but ever so reluctantly moved off of her. He stood, then held out his hands to help her to her feet.

"I agree, Elizabeth can be very stubborn." She took a moment to straighten her gown and re-fix her hair as Erik went to the door and opened it to let Jarrod inside.

"I sincerely apologize for interrupting; you know I would not have otherwise." Jarrod spoke quickly, his head hanging low.

"I know." Erik patted his shoulder, "Her Grace is very upset, you say?"

"Yes, most agitated. She would not even accept tea."

"That is serious." Said Isabella.

"I agree." He told her, then he turned to Jarrod, "We will see about her. Just take care of our dishes and tell Teresa dinner was delicious."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Tell her that I would like to have some more of that fruit later before bed as well, please?" Isabella added.

"Of course, my Lady."

She took Erik's arm and smiled confidently at him as the exited the room, but not before she took one last look inside, noting how it now seemed so different, changed...

…and not so empty.

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A/N: ducks flying objects I know, I know! Have heart though, their time will come soon. I've decided that I will turn this into a two part series, the first part ending in the next couple of chapters and I won't start the next one until all the life situation is straightened out (I'm having a home renovations done and it's making me nuts). Thanks everyone for your patience in this, but I think it will be easier to do it this way, then to rush to put out something that stinks. The reviews are very encouraging, so please keep them coming. Until next time...


	21. Chapter 21 The Unspoken Finally Spoken

A/N: This is the last chapter of Part One. I hope it doesn't disappoint. :D Rated M for this last chapter ONLY. --hears everyone squeal--

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Haven

Chapter Twenty-One

"_As you know, your Grace, the Essex County Women's League for the Campaigning of the Poor is known throughout the area as upholding the highest standards of moral decency." Lady Aurora Covington, the organization's Head Chairwoman, began as she sat with Elizabeth and two other senior members by the fountain in Elizabeth's garden for late afternoon tea. Elizabeth, not having arrived home from visiting her son at school but an hour before, found a message waiting for her that the women were to be paying her an urgent call. Therefore, her visit with Isabella would have to wait._

"_Of course." Elizabeth answered, "You know I have always been honored to serve on the Charity Ball Committee."_

"_Yes, and it was by your recommendation that we also appointed Lady Haven on that committee, passing up the applications of many more qualified and established members in the process."_

"_Why, yes. I was very pleased you considered her. She was happy to join and help with the planning. She has only been home from America for two days, but I had anticipated for us to get together and gather ideas for this year's New Year's Gala."_

"_I am afraid that will not be possible now, your Grace." Lady Beatrice Andrews spoke up next. "Not after this terrible scandal."_

_Elizabeth cut her eyes sharply at the women. "Forgive me, but I have been visiting my son at Eton for the past two days, I am afraid I am unaware of any scandal."_

_All three women gasped and Lady Covington told her, "Lady Haven, your Grace. It has been talked about through the county, she has been associating inappropriately with her servants."_

"_Inappropriately? How?" But she immediately feared what it might be and her breath halted, praying she was wrong._

"_I have heard it told that she takes to eating meals with them, visiting them in their own quarters and worse yet, she has been teaching some of them and the servant children… I cannot even bear to say it…to read and write." Lady Andrews answered._

_Elizabeth froze in her seat. She, as Isabella's friend, knew she had been teaching the staff and had counseled her, although not as strongly as she should have, that it must remain a secret. She had neglected to tell her just what the repercussions of this would mean, not just for her but for Erik. Now, it had happened. How in the world did everyone find out?_

"_Oh my…" she stuttered, unsure what to say to the ladies._

"_So naturally, given the nature of this terrible indignity, we feel that having Lady Haven on our committee would simply not be proper. After all, we cannot show in any way that we approve of her actions." Lady Andrews informed her very solemnly. "We know she is American, where associating with the working class is apparently perfectly normal, but she must understand, here, we do not condone such a thing."_

"_We assume you agree with us, do you not, your Grace?" Lady Covington asked._

_Oh, she had dreaded that. How could she side against Isabella? She agreed, as one who held her own staff in respectable regard, that education was a fine idea. In fact, she had contemplated sending a couple of them to Isabella for schooling. Yet, she knew of society and its moral compass. She had recommended Isabella for the prestigious position. There were many women in the League, but only a select few could be on the Charity Ball Committee. It was the event of the season. She almost began to laugh at the contradiction. Here, these women were heading a committee where the funds raised at the ball went to the Vicar for the poor, yet they weren't allowed to do anything else, like talk to them, associate with them or help educate them. For the first time, she truly saw the hypocrisy._

_Yet, as Duchess of Waverly, she couldn't lose her position as well. So, if it took agreeing with the ladies in hopes of getting Isabella back on the committee, she'd have to do it._

"_Yes, it appears I have no choice but to agree with the decision."_

"_Then we shall pay a call and inform her of such."_

"_Perhaps," Elizabeth suggested strongly, "It would be better if I were to inform her of this alone. Despite what she has done, it would be much easier coming from me than from anyone else."_

_The women looked at one another, leaned in, chatted a moment, then all nodded._

"_That would be acceptable." _

Elizabeth had been pacing around the entrance to the parlor for only five minutes, but it seemed like hours. After the League chairwomen left, she barely spoke two words to Thomas at dinner as she thought of a way to break the news to her friend. Even after the ride over and taking time alone while Jarrod went for them, she still wasn't sure how she'd do it. She knew it would be best to be blunt, but, well, she was never good at blunt.

"Elizabeth!" Isabella called from the staircase as she made her way down to her. "I had expected you earlier today, were you delayed?"

They took each other's hands and embraced warmly. "Yes, I was later than expected from Eton, then spent the time with Thomas at dinner before coming here. I apologize for the late hour." She replied.

"Don't be absurd, we don't mind. Jarrod said you didn't want tea, please, let me offer you something else."

"Oh, no, nothing so formal, please."

"It is no trouble, you know that." Erik spoke to her from behind Isabella, then came around and kissed her hand. "I am glad you are home, Thomas was driving me mad from missing you."

"So he has told me." Elizabeth feigned a laugh, which died quickly.

Small talk was over.

"What's wrong? Jarrod told us you said your business with us was urgent." Isabella asked.

"Is it Thomas? He is not ill, is he?" Erik added.

"No, nothing like that."

"Surely, nothing wrong with Tommy…"

"He is well and anxious to see you both again soon, I assure you."

"Tell us then, please, you are worrying me." Isabella pleaded, taking her hand and feeling it shake with growing anxiety. She looked up at Erik, who in turn, took Elizabeth by the arm and walked her into the parlor. He gestured for Elizabeth to sit in the large chair, then he sat next to Isabella on the couch. The three of them faced one another and a couple of lingering breaths passed before Elizabeth worked up the courage to speak.

"I heard that there has been talk…about your interaction with the staff…"

"Yes?"

"And they are talking about your teaching…"

Both Isabella and Erik let out a deep relieved breath.

"Is that what is worrying you?" Isabella asked her, leaning forward, tapping her friend's hand playfully. "We knew everyone was talking about it."

"You knew?" Elizabeth's eyes widened.

"Yes. Thomas informed me earlier today. Some of the investors were talking about it. I told Isabella about it when I came home." Erik answered nonchalantly.

"How did you find out, did Thomas tell you too?" Isabella asked.

"No, he never told me. I found out by…" she began to ring her hands again. How could both of them not be taking this seriously?

"I am sorry, but you have been ordered by the League chairwomen to step down from your position on the Charity Ball committee." There, she said it.

Isabella's mouth fell open, her amused smile quickly dissipating. "The Charity Ball committee? Why? Surely, not for this."

"Yes, for this."

Isabella looked over at Erik, "Oh my God, I…"

He took her hand, "This is unfair, but unfortunately, not surprising. I had told you before that this might not go away as quickly as you thought."

"Yes, I expected some talk, but asking me to leave the committee…I've done nothing wrong, I…"

"Not in their eyes."

"Please, do as they say, Isabella," Elizabeth told her, "quietly resign from the committee, as well as the League. If they remove you, they will do so publicly and it will just be worse in the long run. I promise you, once this subsides, I will do all I can to have them ask you back."

"Do you think it will ever subside?"

"Yes, if you follow my advice, I believe it will, in time, and you will both be able to keep your status. But I must ask, how did everyone find out?"

She blushed profusely, completely embarrassed by her impulsive decision. "I…had Lillian go to some of her friends and tell them yesterday."

"What?"

"I had no clue it would spread so quickly…I mean Lillian assured me it would…but I had no idea everyone would think this was such a big deal and certainly not have it get as far as the Women's League."

"You let this be spread on _purpose_? How could you ruin your reputation in such a way? Do you truly realize just what you have done?"

Isabella began to shake as tears formed in her eyes. All she'd wanted from the first day she arrived in England was to find acceptance. Even in the stuffy county society, she was happy that they had asked her to be on the Charity Ball committee, especially after Elizabeth had explained to her the kind of work they did. Despite some of the ladies there, including Lady Wentworth, she had made some friends.

Erik put his arm around her immediately, "We will find a way to rectify this, do not worry."

"I am sorry to raise my voice like that," Elizabeth felt like crying herself, "I am just so confused as to why you would do this."

"Yes, I should explain…"

It took nearly a half hour for Isabella to tell Elizabeth the story of Lady Wentworth and Rebecca, going into great detail about the earring and Emily, the Wentworth's scullery maid being sent to spy on them. Elizabeth paced and uttered more than a couple of very un-ladylike words for the women, but otherwise, took it very well.

"I see now how the Women's League found out so quickly, seeing how Lady Wentworth is a member." Elizabeth sat back and let out an exasperated sigh. "I can imagine that she could not wait to tell them."

"I agree with you. She truly dislikes me."

"She does not, or was she happy about her application being set aside for yours."

"I want to speak before the League." Isabella blurted out confidently.

"No, I do not think…"

"It couldn't hurt, Elizabeth and I've agreed to resign, so maybe I will be able to explain myself and my reasons to them. I know members in the past have been allowed to give speeches. Lady Covington herself takes great pleasure in the sound of her own voice."

"I guess it could not hurt. We are due to meet in the next few days. I will petition the League to allow you to speak on your own behalf and give your verbal resignation."

"Thank you." Isabella finally smiled, her heart a little lighter. If anyone could sway them in her favor, it would be The Duchess. And thank God, she was on her side.

* * *

…_I used to feel that in many ways, America had not achieved the level of equality that the Civil War had set out to accomplish, but now, seeing the ramifications of my actions, I realize that equality has far to go before it reaches English society as a whole. They give to the poor, the destitute, the downtrodden, but forbid themselves from doing the most generous of actions…speaking to them, treating them with respect and allowing them the most basic aspects of existence that most have. I'm truly sad to discover this too late. Yet, I won't give up. No matter what anyone says, as long as I'm Marchioness of Haven, my staff and their children will be educated…_

Isabella left her pen in the ink well when she heard the knock to her bedroom door. She closed her journal, marking it for easy access later and walked to it, assuming it was Lillian, who no doubt spotted the light under the door and came to inquire why she wasn't already asleep.

It was half past midnight. Elizabeth had stayed until after ten o'clock, discussing what she should do next in regards to how she responds to the gossip and how to answer the rush of letters that would come in from those who will formally disassociate from them. It was a harsh reality check and a valuable lesson. She vowed she would get even with Cecelia Wentworth and Rebecca Arrington, if it was the last act she did during her time on earth.

"You should be in bed, Lillian…"

"I hope you were not asleep." Erik whispered when she cracked the door open.

She silently told herself that it wouldn't have mattered if she was asleep or not, she'd always open the door for him.

"Sorry, I thought you were Lillian coming to check on me. No, I was just taking some time to write before I retired. You couldn't sleep?"

"I guess I could not."

"Please, come in." she held the door open as she gathered her robe around her.

Erik kept his head down as he walked inside, careful not to view her much more than necessary while she was not in proper dress. Given what had happened earlier in the piano room, it would take nothing for him to lose his gentlemanly demeanor.

Isabella sat down on the bed and gestured for Erik to sit in the chair at her desk. Safe precaution. He looked amazing as he was still wearing his black slacks, but his upper clothing was gone and just covered by the navy robe, tied loosely at the waist. Her eyes drank him in momentarily, then coughed when she found he'd caught her gaze.

"I hope Elizabeth can convince the League to allow me to speak... I…" She started, but Erik shook his head at her and she immediately ceased.

"That is not why I am here." His voice was soft, non-threatening and very inviting.

"It's not?"

"Indeed, I did want to check on you, but I also wanted to know... to see if perhaps you had any more questions about my past. Questions you still needed answered.

Darn.

"Oh."

"So, was there?"

Well, if Erik wasn't going to ask her to share his bed that evening, then she might as well keep him there talking. Anything to have him nearby, to feel his presence, hear his voice, see his face.

"I suppose there were a couple of questions I was going to ask, but as we were interrupted, I never got the chance. What happened after the fire? Do you remember getting out?"

"I… actually, I do not."

"Then how did you end up on the hillside behind your home?"

"Jarrod."

"Jarrod?"

"Jarrod was my father's butler, so he had known me all of my life. When I established my own household, he came with me. That night, I had wanted time alone with Sabine, so I gave the whole staff the night off. Fortunately, Jarrod had returned early and heard the commotion. He told me that when he came into the house, it was already on fire, but he found me in the parlor by the piano. Sabine and Philippe were on the floor nearby, their bodies burning, they were hardly recognizable. He managed to carry me out of the house and leave me on the hillside, then he returned to get help. I woke up sometime around sunrise just as the fire had engulfed the entire house. I was in a great deal of pain, not just my face, but my whole body had suffered some type of burns, but it was my face that was the worst. I felt the side of it and panicked."

"Did you seek medical attention?"

"Jarrod returned to help me to the doctor, but there was very little the man could do except remove skin from my thigh and graft it on to my face to cover the wound. The bone was exposed, you see, and that was the only alternative."

"You must have suffered in pain for a long time."

"A very long time. Jarrod hid me away in an old, abandoned dwelling in Montmartre while I healed. Bandages had to be changed daily, the wound cleaned to stave off infection, and even then, I almost died from septicemia."

"How awful! Your father must have been beside himself with worry. I know I would have, if it had been my child. Why didn't you convalesce at his home?"

"No, I could not. See…when we first went to the doctor's, Jarrod told me that when the workers pulled out Sabine and Philippe's bodies from the fire, my father thought Philippe was me. He'd told me he would go to him and tell him the truth, but I stopped him."

"So, that's how he thought you'd died. But why would you do that to him? I know you two were no longer speaking because of Sabine, but that would have been the perfect time to make amends, for both of you."

"I know it is difficult for you to understand, Belle, but as hideous as I was, I wanted to die and at that time, I was sure I would. As I recovered and slowly regained my strength, I did contemplate going to see Father, but in the end, given the humiliation and shame Sabine had brought to me, I thought it was best to leave France, start over and spare him the indignity of public ridicule. Not to mention sparing him the burden of a son with a deformed face."

"You can't tell me your father would have scorned you for your injury."

Erik laughed softly, his eyes softening as he thought of his father, "No, I am sure he would not have. But, it is better this way."

"How sad, Erik. I wish you would reconsider your decision and go visit him before it's too late. I'm sure he misses you."

"Someday, maybe. If I felt he would not resent me for staying away so long."

"I'm sure he wouldn't, he would just be happy to know you're alive. What if I went with you?"

"You would do that?"

"I would love to meet your father, not to mention see Rouen. If you recall, you did promise me a visit there as well as to Paris. So, why wouldn't I go? After all, I'm your wife."

Erik just stared at her, unable to give an immediate verbal response. It was the first time she'd ever said she was his wife in such a sincere, contented tone. He knew in some ways she'd accepted it, but could it be that now, she has embraced it as well?

There was only one way to find out.

"Isabella, would you share my bed tonight?" he asked her, his heart hopeful.

"No." she replied firmly.

His eyes blinked. "No?"

"But would you share mine?" she smiled, gesturing behind her to the empty bed.

He swallowed hard, his throat tightening, threatening to suffocate him under the weight of his anticipation. Who cares which bed it was, as long as they were together?

"Yes, I would be honored."

She stood and walked over to where he sat in the chair. While standing in front of him, his eyes at perfect level to the lower part of her breasts, she slowly untied her robe, letting it fall away to expose her body in the thin shift. The warm glow of the candlelight illuminated the material, making it easy to see the curves of her body inside it.

"Stunning…" he whispered as his hands slid up her arms where he gently pushed the robe off her shoulders. It fell to the floor in a pool around her feet.

Isabella began to shake with anticipation and nervousness. No staff awake to interrupt now. Nothing between them but his robe and her shift. A simple piece of velvet and a sheer piece of linen. How long had it been since a man made love to her? Not since her Lawrence died.

Her sweet Lawrence, her husband, her first love. Was she now betraying his memory by letting another man touch her body, something he'd only had the privilege of doing? Would he be happy for her that she'd move on and found another man to make her happy, or would he be upset, jealous? He'd been gone for so long, so long since she'd been a real wife, she wanted it, more than she could admit to anyone.

"Belle…speak to me." Erik touched her cheek when he noticed that her eyes had turned distant.

"Nothing…nothing at all, I'm sorry."

"I know you are nervous, I can see it. We do not have to do anything except hold one another, if that's what you want. I want you to understand that. I only want to feel you near me…see the sunlight on your face when I awaken…"

Slowly, refocusing her attention back to Erik, she nodded. "Yes, Erik…I want to see your face as I awaken, but only after we have spent the night making love. I'm ready, please take me as your wife, tonight…now."

He rose from the chair, his hands gliding up her body in the process, and enclosed her in his arms. His amber eyes turned a deeper hue and sparkled as his desire grew. Isabella's hands pressed carefully against his chest, breathless at the feel of the small smattering of hair against her palms as they moved upward toward his neck. She carefully pushed his robe off his broad shoulders, knowing there was scaring around his neck and right shoulder that she hadn't seen, but was prepared to view for the first time.

As the robe slid away, her fingers glided carefully over the red and scarred skin that mirrored his face in so many ways, yet was not near as bad as she first thought. She could hear Erik hiss, feel his hand enclose around her arm and she wondered if he would make her stop, but was pleased when he never made the effort to do so.

Erik couldn't believe how incredibly wonderful her touch felt on the wounded skin of his shoulder. She smelled like heaven, full of lavender and sandalwood…a sweet, musky scent that seemed to become stronger with each passing breath he took. Her lovely blonde hair was like silk against his fingers, her skin smooth as glass. He knew he wanted to take his time to explore her body, indulge all her senses, but his own body had been denied the sweet pleasure for far too long to wait.

"Belle…" he whispered, gripping her hips and walking her backwards toward her bed, "Forgive me if this happens too fast…I…"

When the back of her thighs touched the bed, she lowered herself down to sit on it, looking up at him with a smirk, "I understand. To be honest, I'm having trouble controlling myself as well." Her hands ran across his stomach, down to the top of his black trousers, lingering on the top where skin met fabric.

"May I do the honors, my husband?"

"Please, by all means…" he barely could get the words out before she had undone the top buttons.

Isabella smiled, then laid back on the bed, pulling Erik down to rest on top of her. Her hand came to rest on the edge of his mask and with her eyes, asked the silent question.

"Yes, remove it."

Gently, she peeled the mask away as she'd done before, but this time, with no reservation. She knew what lied behind it, there were no surprises…and nothing to fear. Her smile told him that and in one moment of revelation, he knew that not only didn't she find him hideous now, she probably never did.

"Nothing between us now…"

"Nothing." She tossed the mask aside as their lips met. His lips were just as gloriously delicious as they were during that first kiss in the piano room, but this time, there was no innocent exploration to them. This time, their kisses were unrelenting, almost feverish, threatening to capture them in an endless circle of pure delight. Their hands touched, gripped and sought out each sensitive inch of each other's body, regardless of whether clothing was still present. Erik's hand glided up her thigh, reveling in her silky skin as he shoved aside the shift. He gripped it frustratingly in his fist.

"This needs to go or I shall rip it from your body." He growled, his lips against her neck.

"It might be difficult to remove in this position; it might have to remain where it is." She playfully taunted back to him.

"You tease…" his laugh was dark and sensual as his hands ripped the shift from bottom to top in one smooth, fluid motion, his stare burning through her.

She gasped, then another sultry smirk formed on her full, kiss-swollen lips before she licked them and at that moment, candy wouldn't have looked sweeter to Erik's eyes.

"Belle, with everything that I am, I want you…" his hand caressed her cheek, then slid slowly down her throat as he gazed at her now naked body underneath him. God, Venus was no more intoxicating than his wife. He'd dreamed of her body, dreamed how her warm skin would feel under his touch, but nothing prepared him for what he saw at that moment.

It took little time for Isabella to remove Erik's trousers and send them to the floor. It was then that the nervousness resurfaced. Erik had been with many women, mistresses whose sole purpose was to please men in many ways. She and Lawrence had been so young, naïve in the ways of sexual pleasure. Sex was warm, loving and enjoyable, but she felt much more than that now for Erik. A passion was burning inside her, something she had never felt with Lawrence and it frightened her. Did that mean she loved Erik more than she ever loved Lawrence? She closed her eyes as she felt Erik's lips trailing slowly down her throat, lingering at the top of her breasts and the question drifted from her mind. That was for another day. No, she was not a virgin, but everything he was doing was so new. He was venturing into unexplored, uncharted territory, pulling her right along for the ride.

And she loved it.

Erik's cheek carefully brushed over her hardened nipple and when Isabella gasped, he almost came undone. He was desperate to make sure his lips left no part of her body untouched, yet he was already threatening to release himself outside of her body, and that would never do. No, no matter how much he wanted to take his time, he had to be inside her.

He lifted himself up above her and grabbing her thighs, pulled her legs around his waist, then settled back down, their bodies coming together to make a perfect fit. She could feel him against her opening, knowing with just one push of his hips, he would bury himself inside her. She knew he was waiting for her word, just the one utterance of compliance and he would take her for his own. Oh, the power she felt, as she held this man's desire in the palm of her hand.

"Please, I cannot wait…" he whispered to her, his eyes pleading, his body shaking as he fought to keep himself together. He gently rained kisses across her cheeks and forehead.

She nodded, but her own eyes filled with tears. She knew, with this one act, she was putting Lawrence's memories away, burying them deep inside her heart and mind forever.

He kissed her tears away as he carefully merged their bodies together as one. He watched her closely, never taking her with more force than she could handle, knowing she'd been without a man for many years. It didn't matter how long it took, he had all night and the rest of their lives to love her.

Isabella's body was on fire as they moved together in the age-old, sensual dance. Between kisses, Erik whispered his love to her, promised her his devotion, gave breathless praises to her body. Soon, both of their voices spoke no words, but gave in to their ecstasy as their movements against one another became increasingly urgent, demanding. Something was building inside her, something that came from her very depths, made her body shudder, made her fight to have more of it. It kept building, building, just within her grasp, then Erik would slow his movements and it would disappear. He seemed to know this. How, she didn't understand, but she sensed he was controlling it on purpose, only willing to allow her to have it all when he decided.

And she couldn't have that.

"Don't stop…why do you keep stopping!" she cried out, pounding his shoulder in frustration.

"If you have to ask me that, my lovely, then you have not experienced this ultimate pleasure…" he barely answered. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and she marveled at his tussled hair.

She knew what he was referring to and no, she hadn't experienced it yet. Her friends spoke of it. Spoke of an explosion from deep within the body, something of which there was no comparison. She thought it to be a myth, after all, she'd been with Lawrence, why didn't she experience it with him?

But this was before Erik. And now she knew this was not a myth after all.

Instinctively, her body began to seek it again and their lovemaking turned into something fierce. Nails clawed skin, teeth bit flesh, voices growled, groaned and cried. "Erik…" she found herself begging him, "Please…."

He'd let her wait long enough and he let her have the release she so desperately sought. Isabella screamed out his name…once, twice, three times as her body soared to the edge of the skies. In the midst of it, although she was not sure exactly when, Erik found his own release, spilling himself inside her, his own cries equaling hers in intensity.

He finally came to rest against her breasts, damp from her own perspiration. She stroked his hair, her body still humming with such ferocity, she wondered if it would ever stop.

"Oh…my….God." she panted, fighting to catch her breath.

Erik could hear her heart beating, pounding against his ear, "How incredible. I could watch you like this all night, better still I could love you like this forever."

"I'm not going anywhere." She laughed. "Who cares if we just wilt away to nothing, die of starvation…?"

"You goddess." He smirked up at her, "I adore you."

Those three little words took her breath away, but she needed to hear more. "Oh, Erik. I _love_ you."

He turned to lie on his back and took Isabella in his arms, "I never thought I would hear those words from you."

"I never thought I'd say them."

"I never thought I would say them as well, but, Isabella….I love you. Love you beyond anything or anyone in this world. Please, believe that."

New, fresh tears rolled down her warm cheeks, "Please, promise me…"

"Anything."

"Promise me you have never told anyone you loved them before."

She could hear his breathing stutter.

"Belle, I…"

Finally, she looked up at him, "No, Erik, I know you loved Sabine and I'm sure you told her often. I'm not talking about her. She's dead. I meant after Sabine, your mistresses…promise me you have never told any of them that you…"

"No." he said firmly, "I have never loved them."

"Not even Rebecca?"

"I never loved Rebecca. I promise you, with all my heart."

It was all she needed.

"Have you loved anyone since Lawrence?"

Her eyes lightened, softened as she stroked Erik's cheek, "No one but you."

"Promise me?"

"With all my heart."

"Isabella Rose Renault, Marchioness of Haven…will you marry me?"

Her heart exploded with joy but she smirked at him and answered with an amusing tone, "But we are already married."

"You know what I mean." He chuckled, popping her on the hip, "I want it to be official. A renewal of our vows. I want more than just a couple of people to witness it. I want it to be in a church, the little church in Rouen where my parents were married. I want music, flowers…"

"And your father?"

He paused a moment, before whispering, "My father does not even know I am alive, much less know I am married. Yes, I would want him to be there."

"Erik, nothing would make me happier than to marry you, really marry you."

They spoke no more words the rest of the night. Together, the two of them watched the wick from one lone candle on the desk burn down to nothing and the room turn to darkness before they both closed their eyes to the chime of the grandfather clock as it struck the hour. Neither dreamed. They didn't need to dream, for everything they'd ever wanted was right there…

…to have and to hold.

--End of Part One--

* * *

A/N: My apologies for ending so abruptly, but I hope you will all like how it ended. Unfortunately, I really had to close this part of the story for now, at least until I get the home renovation stuff behind me. Plus, I'd simply like to give my brain a break as well as my wonderful beta, Roxanne. I'd also love to thank winterlillies and her muse, The Duke, for all the completely invaluable advice about the 1800's time period. She helped with story suggestions, etiquette and culture and I don't think it would have been nearly as believable without her input. And finally, thank you to all who supported the story with your reviews and private messages. All the comments were greatly appreciated. If you haven't put me on your author alert, I ask that you do, so you can get alerted when I begin Part Two. I'll be writing on it back and forth to keep it fresh, but I'm sure I won't be posting for at least 2-3 months. Thanks again!


	22. Part Two Preview

A/N: This is just a short preview of Part Two for those who had Haven on alert and were unaware that I'd started Part Two as a fresh story. Below is an excerpt only, the rest can be found here : http : / www. fanfiction. net / s / 4498339 / 1 / Winterhaven . Thanks!

Winterhaven -  
Haven Part Two

Chapter One:

The sky was gray and Isabella wondered, as she stared out the window of the parlor, if it was going to snow. From her vantage point, she could see Erik's dark carriage pulling away as he headed for work in London. She placed her hand to the glass as her breath formed a foggy mist, then smiled when Erik peeked from the curtain and raised his own hand.

The clock chimed eleven o'clock by the time the carriage was out the gate. They'd slept in. Naturally, considering they'd spent the majority of the night in her room making love. Twice, three times, maybe four, she'd lost count. Neither one of them closed their eyes until the first glimmer of light showed through the misty clouds.

She grinned to herself, picturing the look that Lillian must have given as she'd come to the door at her usual time and knocked, only to hear Erik telling her to let them sleep. She didn't reply and she didn't return. In fact, neither Isabella nor Erik realized the late hour until it was almost too late. He had to be at work and Isabella had an important lunch date with Elizabeth to discuss her resignation from the Women's League.

Even the satisfaction of her and Erik's real consummation was still overshadowed by her idiotic actions of the past few days. In a way, she felt she deserved the repercussions for underestimating…once again…English society. But she wasn't going away without telling the Women's League her reasons behind what she was trying to do. She had to stand up for herself, despite knowing they couldn't care less.

Then she'd figure out a way to put Lady Wentworth and Rebecca Arrington in their place.

"Mum, good morning." Lillian said as she entered the parlor, her arms full of rags and carrying a large bottle. Yes, of course, silver polishing day.

"Good morning." Isabella turned from the window and sat down in the chair nearby so she could keep watch for Elizabeth's carriage. She picked up a book, but let it lay in her lap, knowing she'd never bother trying to read it.

"Did you and Lord Erik have your breakfast?"

"No, Erik chose to eat brunch in London and I opted to wait until Elizabeth arrived for lunch, so I just had some juice. Both Erik and I were surprised it wasn't on the table, stone cold."

Lillian grinned brightly at her mistress, "Teresa knew you would both be late, Mum, so she chose to wait until you were both awake to prepare anything. It was no secret to anyone that you and Lord Erik spent some private time together last night…."

Isabella's head flew around toward the young maid.

"When I came to wake you at sunrise, I knew you were not alone, but as you know, it is my duty to wake you as you've always instructed. It did not surprise me to hear my Lord's voice instead of yours."

"My God, Lillian…was it _that_ obvious?"

Again, she smiled, "Yes, I mean, our rooms are not that far apart from one another, Mum and…"

It finally became clear and instantly, Isabella turned a light shade of crimson, her hand flying to cover her gaping mouth. "Are you saying you could _hear_ us?"

Lillian, in turn, also blushed.

"Oh heavens!"

"It is fine, Mum, I could not hear _everything_…I mean, I slept most of the night…" Lillian's voice rose in pitch as she tried to explain.

That didn't help. This wasn't good, not at all. Next time she was sleeping in Erik's room. It was at the far end of the second floor, plenty of distance from Lillian's room. She said a silent thankful prayer that Lillian was the only one of the staff that had their room in the house except for Jarrod and he slept through anything. She would've hated having to face Teresa or God forbid, Mary Ellen if either one of them had heard.

"I suppose everyone knows now." That didn't take much deduction. Lillian had a wagging tongue.

Lillian shrugged, then picked up a rag and began polishing a silver tea cup, "I was unaware it was a secret, Mum. I mean everyone has been hoping for such a thing to happen, although we would have never told either of you."

"Well, since it appears to have been such an _event_, I would appreciate letting me tell Elizabeth about it, if you don't mind." Isabella sighed, rolling her eyes. Though, she could hardly be mad about it. She'd just have to adjust to the jubilation she was sure to receive from the rest of the staff.

"I'm so sorry, Mum!" Lillian began to apologize profusely for overstepping her bounds, but Isabella just held up her hand. After all, she was hoping for what happened last night more than anyone.

What an amazing night it was too. Erik, to her delight, was a gentle and patient lover who also possessed great skill and stamina. She supposed he would have to be that way, considering he'd had many women over the years share his bed. She chose not to think about them though. Now that he was married to her, the others were all in the past. He'd promised her that. He'd told her, as she lay in his arms, sleepy from exhaustion, that she was the last and the best. No other woman moved him the way she did and he'd never opened his heart to anyone since Sabine. She believed him, considering that he never moved to replace his mask until the moment he went to leave her bedroom for his own later that morning. If she didn't know better, she could have sworn he'd even forgotten about it until that point. A big step in the right direction. No, she doubted she could ever get Erik to go out into the house without it, but at least he seemed comfortable around her.

"No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have sounded so irritated; the idea that you heard us caught me off guard. In the future, I will stay with Erik in his bed. That will ensure you get a sound sleep and ensure I don't suffer from a bout of self-consciousness."

"I suspect he will wish for you to move into his room permanently," Lillian began, "I heard him say something to Jarrod about perhaps purchasing a larger bed."

"Oh." That was definitely news to her. She'd assumed she would still have her own room. She liked it, liked the independence as well as the privacy it gave her to read or sew or write to her mother. She'd seen Erik's room only a couple of times since she'd been there. And while it was nicely decorated, it wasn't her preference.

Erik liked red. His room was simply busy with it. The walls were red, smattered with a few paintings here and there. The bedcovering was red satin and the floors were covered in red and green Persian rugs. It wasn't that she disliked red, in fact, it went well with the very simple, dark mahogany furniture. It was a very masculine room, period and she just wasn't masculine. She didn't feel she could become accustomed to it anymore than he could become accustomed to hers.

"Maybe I should talk to Erik about this. I like my room and I really don't want to move in there full time." She told Lillian, then her head turned sharply to look out the window.

"I am sure he would alter it in any way you saw fit, Mum." She assured her.

"Yes, I know he would, but I'd rather he not bother. He likes his room, as I do mine. We'll figure something out, I'm sure."

Elizabeth's carriage was pulling up, its wheels clicking along the cobblestone.

"The Duchess is here!" Lillian called out toward the foyer, but Mary Ellen was already heading to the door.

"I heard you, girl, quit being so loud!" she called back into the parlor just as loud as Lillian had been, if not more so.

Isabella rose and with a wink to Lillian, walked out into the foyer to greet her friend.


End file.
